All's Fair In Love And War
by BookQ36
Summary: Hogan's men encounter an injured underground agent while out on a mission. They help carry out her mission, and in doing so they discover some of the dirtiest secrets of the war. Sequel of sorts to "You Can't Win 'Em All".
1. Prologue

All's Fair in Love and War

"Granpa! Granpa!" a young girl squealed, rushing over to her grandfather's chair in the living room. An older man in his late sixties slouched in the chair, dozing.

A woman came out of the kitchen, wiping flour from her hands and quietly admonishing the girl. "Suzie, you know that your grandfather is tired from taking you to the park. Let him sleep for a while and help me make the dumplings. . ."

Suzie dodged away when her mother started leading her to the kitchen. "But mama, I want the story!"

A quiet snort from the chair interrupted them as the older man blinked awake. "Hey, whas this all about?"

Suzie grinned, dashing over to the chair and jumping into his lap. "I wanted the story, granpa, the one about how your mama and papa met."

"I'm sorry, dad," the mother shook her head. "I was hoping you could sleep longer…"

The grandfather smiled, holding up a hand to shush his daughter. "It's alright, Maggie. I had a good sleep, and there's no way I'd rather pass the time than telling my favorite granddaughter a good story."

"Granpa Eli, I'm your _only_ granddaughter!" Suzie giggled as he started tickling her.

"And that's why you're so special." He kissed her head and sat her on his lap, trying to recall just how the story began.

His eyes fell on a picture frame sitting on an end table. There was a young couple in the grainy photograph. A woman with wavy auburn hair smiled back at him, even as she rested her cheek on the shoulder of a young man in uniform. The man's eyes sparkled with mischief and he seemed to be laughing at some private joke. Of course, the woman in the photo was Suzie's great grandmother, but the man wasn't her great grandfather. The man had raised Suzie's grandfather, though, and Eli didn't want to try to explain all of the intricacies of remarrying and step-parents to a six year old, so the young soldier had always been called her great grandfather. She was still too young to be told what had happened to her _real_ great grandfather...

He shook his head, banishing the painful memories as he looked at Suzie's eager face. "Alright, kiddie, here's how my mother and father met." 


	2. Eavesdropping

2

An irritated British accent cut through the quiet woodlands. "Carter! 'Ow many times do I 'ave ta tell you ta stop steppin' on my flippin' feet?"

There was some shuffling, followed by a defensive whisper. "Well I'm sorry, Newkirk, but it's pretty hard to watch out for your feet when I'm carrying all our dynamite for the bridge and the supply depot. And the timers and detonators, forPete's sake! How'd you like it if I tripped on a root and the TNT blew us all clear toBerlin? You could at least carry something..."

A sigh from somewhere ahead of the two other voices signaled the presence of another edgy saboteur. "Keep it down, you two, or do you want every patrol in the area to know where we are? Newkirk, take the timers and Kinch, take a detonator. Lets try to get this mission done without any more foul ups. This is the third time we've tried to knock off these targets, and third time had better be the charm!"

"Oui, the Colonel is right. First the bombers get knocked off by flak, then we can't get to the targets because of Burkhalter's sister and Hochstetter visiting at the same time..."

The tired voice from up front took over. "Yeah, and if we can't get it tonight, panzers start moving across that bridge to resupply and reinforce German garrisons on the Russian front. If we knock out their supplies and cut off their route, they'll have to go seventy miles south to find a bridge big enough to support troop-carrier trucks _and _they'll need at least a week to replace the supplies. If we pull this off, we'll delay them seven days and they'll have to use up manpower and materials rebuilding the bridge."

A deeper voice weighed in. "Let's just hopeLaureland Hardy don't alert anyone that we're here."

"You said it, Kinch." As the tired voice moved off, about ten meters away, a young woman quietly stirred.

Was she dreaming, or had she just heard men speaking in English? It was so long since she'd heard good English, she was afraid that her imagination might be playing tricks on her, but she was almost certain that the voices had been real, and they were talking about blowing up bridges and supply depots... sneaking around in the woods at night, worried that a patrol might catch them. That sounded like an underground band, but something didn't fit. Most of the voices had American accents, but one was French, and the first one she'd heard was British. Members of the underground were almost always German or French, and a group of men with those accents in this part ofGermanywere almost certainly escaped POWs or downed fliers, so why were they engaging in sabotage? Why weren't they just trying to get out of the country?

The young woman shook her head a little, then winced and shut her eyes tightly. She lifted one hand and gingerly felt the back of her head, biting her lip to stifle a whimper when her fingertips touched a tender lump covered in a sticky liquid.

She vaguely remembered being chased through the woods by armed men, bullets whizzing above and around her. None had hit her, but one hit her horse and sent it into a panic, careening blindly through the trees until a sharp turn sent her flying from the saddle. That happened shortly before sunset and now here it was, the dead of night.

Dead. That's what she'd be if no one found her in the next few hours, or worse, if the wrong people found her.

There was a rock by one of her shoulders and a small log under part of her back. She must have landed on them, since she had a corresponding sore spot for each object. She tried to look around, to find her horse, but a bolt of pain shot through her side and the throbbing in her head graduated to a pounding.

Those men she'd heard, it sounded like there were five of them. If they came back again, she'd try to get their attention. She didn't know if she could trust them; after all, she was in a pretty vulnerable position, and she had learned – the hard way – that men weren't renowned for their self control during wartime, but they were her only chance of getting medical attention. Besides, even though it was a problem, in a way, the fact that she was a woman in need of help was also an asset. She knew that men try to impress women they're interested in, and what could be more impressive than saving a damsel in distress?

While she was thinking about these things, a loud bang shook the woods, and the area to the east briefly lit up in tones of orange and red. She didn't know the area very well, but the men she'd overheard had been headed east, laden with explosives and talking about blowing things up. Even with a concussion, it wasn't hard for her to guess that one of the saboteurs' targets had been destroyed. Now, she just hoped that their other target would lead them past her again...


	3. First Impressions

3

Not five minutes later, she heard muffled voices coming nearer. She tried to hold onto consciousness long enough to see if it was the same group of men.

"Boy, Kinch, did you see that bridge go up? It musta gone at least fifty feet!"

There was a deep chuckle. "Yeah, in at least sixty different directions."

Sound of a hand hitting a shoulder. "I've gotta hand it to ya,Carter, you are a clod sometimes, but that explosion was bloody marvelous!"

She smiled. The voices belonged to the same men, except now they sounded much happier. This was her shot at safety.

"Hel-," she tried to raise her voice in order to get their attention but started coughing instead. "Hello," she managed shakily, between gasps. The coughing caused a stabbing pain in her side and made her head hurt even more.

The men stopped in their tracks. The tired voice gave orders. "I heard it. Spread out, guns at the ready, but don't shoot until you're sure whoever it is isn't one of ours."

Sounds of things being gingerly put on the ground, then rustling in the undergrowth as the men circled out, searching for the source of the voice. It didn't take too long, especially since she wanted to be found. With her head feeling the way it did, she didn't think that trying to sit up would be wise, so she stayed lying down but waved a leafy branch in the air to signal the searchers.

The deep-voiced man was the first to spot her. He walked forward cautiously, seeming reassured by her eagerness to be found, but not ready to let down his guard just yet. Once he was standing next to her, she dropped the branch and let her eyes close, relaxing. Now that they'd found her, she didn't have to try so hard to stay conscious.

"All clear, colonel," the deep voice called in a stage whisper. He must have knelt down by her shoulder, because the shout was close to her ear. She winced at the sound and he put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Sorry," he said in a softer tone. "Does your head hurt?"

Her face relaxed a little and she nodded slightly. "And my back…" She trailed off, closing her eyes tighter in a grimace. "I think I landed on a log – "

Another set of footsteps approached them. "What do we have, Kinch?"

Deep voice kept his hand on her shoulder, maintaining the reassuring touch. "Try not to move too much." He turned towards the footsteps, answering the other man. "I think she's hurt, colonel."

She opened her eyes to see the deep-voiced man crouching by her side. He was one of the Americans, a sergeant, judging by the stripes on his uniform sleeve, but what surprised her was the color of his skin. He was black. She'd never seen a colored service man before.

"How bad?" The other man crouched down too, pushing back his crush cap on his forehead and studying her with dark brown eyes as the colored man spoke.

"I'm not sure yet. Ma'am?" he touched her upper arm with cautious fingers. "Did you pass out?"

"Yes." She swallowed, blinking slowly to make the dark woodland around them go back into focus. "It was just after sunset. I fell off my horse…"

The sound of crunching leaves and snapping twigs drowned her out, signaling that the rest of the men were coming over to join them.

"Did I hear someone say 'she'?" More footsteps crashed through the undergrowth, coming towards them. The voice asking the question had a French accent and sounded eager. "Where's the girl?"

"It's a girl?" The British voice, sounding surprised and a little excited. It seemed like his footsteps sped up.

"Is she all right?" It was the third American, sounding more worried than the others. A few seconds after asking the question, he grunted softly.

The British voice sighed. "Andrew, you bleedin' idiot, give me that dynamite before you drop it an' kill the lot of us!"

Her head spun as the men's voices seemed to swirl over her, rapidly firing questions at each other as though she wasn't even there. She was still trying to make sense of the situation and reconstruct how she had gotten there in the first place, but there was something else she didn't understand.

"Are you with the underground?" The men all seemed startled to hear her speak, and even more so by the question, asked in perfect, unaccented English. Until that point, only the sergeant had heard her speak, and he had been too busy assessing her condition to take much note of anything else.

The man in the crush cap exchanged wary looks with the others before squinting at her. "Why do you ask?"

She gave him a wan half smile. "It's the middle of the night, something big just blew up…" Her eyes closed, then slowly reopened. " … and five men from Allied countries are nearby, carrying around dynamite." She weakly shrugged one shoulder, afraid to move the other. "It adds up."

The men looked at each other, more than a little worried by her observation. If she could make the connection so easily, surely others could, too. Leaving camp in their uniforms had been a calculated risk. With a double mission they knew that there was a chance of them being seen by a patrol somewhere along the way. They each had fake dog-tags, so they could claim to be downed fliers or escaped prisoners. If they had gone out wearing black gear and greasepaint, they ran a bigger risk of being pegged as spies. Still, they had been much too loud walking through the woods and drawing unnecessary attention to themselves. They must have gotten sloppy.

"I think she has a concussion." The black sergeant straightened up and spoke to the man in the crush cap, indicating her with a tilt of his head and then smiling at her. "By the way, I'm Kinch."

Her eyes closed again. "Nice to meet you, sergeant." She tried to rest her head on the ground, but ended up hissing in pain seconds later.

"'Ere, luv. Allow me."

The British man slid in behind her, cradling her head in his hands with a surprisingly light touch. His fingers skimmed through her hair and over a sizeable lump as he did a quick check for injuries, and once he was done he went back to simply supporting her head, being careful to avoid putting any pressure on the lump.

"Thanks," she breathed.

"Don't mention it, luv."

His blue eyes sparkled and it took all of his practice to keep his hands steady, especially when he felt a sticky liquid creeping onto his fingers. He angled his head, trying to get a better look at it without withdrawing his hands. It was hard to tell in the low light, but one of the other men shone a flashlight over his shoulder, illuminating her head. With the flashlight's beam he could see a smudge of something red on the back of her neck, along with dark drops of dried liquid on the ground where her head had been resting, and an ugly gash in amongst her hair. He realized what the liquid must be and a worried expression passed over his face, but he managed to keep his voice light.

"The name's Newkirk, but you can call me Peter."

He carefully shifted his hands so that one still supported her head while the other was free to dig around in his jacket pocket. After a minute or so of groping around in the pocket while trying to ignore the trickles of blood dripping over his knuckles, Newkirk finally found what he'd been looking for. He smiled to himself, retrieving the prized handkerchief and folding it one-handed before gently pressing it to her injury. She whimpered a little, her eyebrows scooting together in a wince at the sudden pressure, but she relaxed when he eased off slightly.

"Oui, and I'm Louis." The Frenchman seemed at a loss for things to do to help, so he picked up her hand and kissed it.

Newkirk grinned and bent down, whispering to her. "'E's jealous."

"Uh-huh. And just call me anxious." The American officer put his hands on his knees and stood up decisively. "You guys _do_ remember that we still have a job to do tonight? We don't have time to play auto club."

"Mon colonel, have a heart!" LeBeau was shocked. "This poor mademoiselle is hurt. We cannot leave her out here."

"But we do have to take care of that-" Kinch stopped himself just in time. He cleared his throat, sharing a look with the colonel. "That thing."

None of them knew whether or not this woman had overheard their earlier conversation about the targets. She'd obviously been in the same spot for hours, but had she been awake when they passed by earlier? And was she on their side, or a cunning German plant? They had all fallen for Gestapo traps before, especially when beautiful women had been the bait. LeBeau had been an open book to the female interrogation team, Newkirk brought a Gestapo spy into camp through their emergency tunnel, and even Hogan had led the guys to a rendezvous with a blackmailing milkmaid.

"Sir, all of us don't need to be there to do the second job. Why don't I just pop back to camp and take 'er with me?Wilson can give her a look-see and patch 'er up."

The colonel nodded. "Alright, Newkirk, take her back, but you shouldn't go alone. It'll be tricky getting her into camp, and you'll need someone to watch your back."

The youngest man of the bunch, a lanky American, shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets and stood up. "Watch his b- ?Colonel Hogan, do you really think she might try something?"

Hogan glared at the younger man for letting slip his name and rank. After all, they still didn't know if she could be trusted. "No, Andrew, but things like that usually happen when I'm _not_ expecting them. Besides, if he's got his hands full with her, someone's gotta keep an eye out for Krauts."

Their conversation was interrupted by a soft moan as she tried to shift position. The log was digging painfully into her back, making it harder for her to breathe.

The men all looked at each other, then at the colonel, who only held their stares for a moment before glancing at the explosives. He didn't want to just leave her there, but they had a mission to worry about, and holding up those troops and supplies was more important than the safety of any of his men. Or the safety of a civilian, no matter how pretty she was.

She moaned again and Hoganscrubbed a hand across his face. Being in command wasn't easy.

"You alright, luv?"

She forced one eye open and gave Newkirk a tiny, but sardonic, half smile. He shook his head, also smiling. "Right, stupid question."

Carter nodded grimly at the colonel, then picked up the timers and charges.

"Colonel, have you ever been to the Hammelburg zoo?"

All the men pulled up a few times, then moved to crouch beside her. "What did you say?"

She took a breath, grimaced, and asked again. "Have you ever been to the Hammelburg zoo?"

Hogan couldn't believe his ears. She was using an Underground recognition code. He shook his head in disbelief. "Once or twice. My favorites are the brown bears, especially the Papa Bear."

She smiled, letting her eyes close. "I prefer the birds. My favorite is the Nightingale."

Kinch stepped up to Hogan. "We're supposed to rendezvous with an agent codenamed Nightingale in two days. Something about getting important picture negatives to Allied Headquarters in London."

Nightingale was fighting to stay conscious. "Sorry I'm early," she murmured, "but since we're all here already…"

Hogan folded his arms impatiently; he hated foul-ups. "Uh-huh. Look, I'd love to stay and chat, but we don't have time. Newkirk-"

The Englishman looked up expectantly. "Sir?"

"Get her back to camp in one piece. Carter-"

"Don't you worry, boy! I mean, sir. I've got the rest of the stuff right here-"

Hogan gave an annoyed sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand and gesturing at Carter with the other.

"Give the stuff to Kinch. You're helping Newkirk take her back." The young sergeant seemed about to protest but Hogan shook his head, tugging his cap into place and jamming both hands deep into his jacket pockets. "And no arguments! Now get going."

Nightingale could feel herself about to pass out, but first she had to tell them... "Colonel?"

"What?"

The barely contained anger in his voice made her flinch. She couldn't help thinking that this agent was well named. He was as grumpy as a papa bear in midwinter.

"I've kept the film with me."

He nodded, relaxing a little. Instead of a double mission, tonight was turning into a triple. If nothing else went wrong, and that was a _big_ if, they might actually come out ahead on this one.

"Well, at least that's something. I guess you saved us a trip."

As far as he was concerned, it was a good thing whenever he could minimize the risk of his men getting shot. After tonight's antics, the woods would be crawling with Gestapo men trying to find the people responsible for the sabotage. Most likely, they wouldn't give up searching for at least a week, and trying to sneak out of camp for a rendezvous with _those_ boys around wasn't something he'd been looking forward to. Hogan turned to Kinch. "Take Lebeau, get going. I'll follow in a minute."

Kinch adjusted his hold on the equipment and was about to set off when he saw that Lebeau was still kneeling on the ground. "C'mon, Louis."

"Oui, Kinch." He brought Nightingale's hand up and kissed it. "Until we meet again, cherie."

She smile at him and said quietly but distinctly, "Je ne serai pas heureux jusqu'à ce que je vois que vous êtes en sécurité."

Lebeau's eyes went wide as he stood up. He followed Kinch towards the trees away to the north, gesturing back to her with his thumb. "Kinch, did you hear that?"

"I heard it, Louis, I heard it," he sighed, adjusting his hold on the explosives and timers. "Help me carry this stuff, huh?"

"She speaks French! An agent who speaks French, and a beauty, too. She could not be working for the boche."

Kinch raised one eyebrow. "And what if she's from Vichy?"

Lebeau stopped dead in his tracks, a look of comic disgust on his face. "And I thought the English were cruel. You would take my hope away?"

Kinch shrugged, careful not to drop anything. "We can't afford to get careless, Lebeau, that's all I'm saying. I hope we can trust her, but right now I don't wanna bet my life on it. You remember when that Gestapo dame Myracame to camp, selling milk, and told Hogan that she had a message from Robinson Crusoe?[1] We fell for that like a ton of bricks."

"Oui. D'accord. You are right, of course, but I hate to think that this girl is involved with something like that, or that we would fall for the same trick again."

They disappeared through the trees, but Kinch's reply drifted back to the rest of the group.

"Exactly why we're being so cautious now."

* * *

[1] 'Diamonds in the Rough' 2x03


	4. All Business

4

Hogan shook his head, waiting for the sound of retreating footsteps to fade away. "Right, now, is there anything _else_ I need to know before I see you all back at the enchanted castle?"

Newkirk squeezed Nightingale's shoulder, since she seemed to have passed out. "'Ey, anythin' else you didn't tell us?"

She stirred, creased her eyebrows and looked thoughtful before shaking her head. "Umm, no."

Hogannodded to his men, turning to follow Kinch. "Great. I'll see you-"

She fidgeted nervously, reluctant to say this next part, but knowing that she had to. "Except that the film isn't on me." She flinched, anticipating the colonel's next outburst.

"Not on you."

He stopped in his tracks and turned slowly to look at her.

"What do you mean it's not on you?"

He stalked over to her and crouched down, not wanting to shout and advertise their location. Instead, his voice was almost playful but with barely concealed rage underneath the mirth. "You said you kept it with you. Where the heck is it?"

She shrank away from Hogan a little, moving closer to Newkirk. Her shoulders slumped, and she sagged against his arm.

Newkirk gave her a little shake, trying to rouse her, but she didn't respond. He gave a tired sigh and shifted his hold on her, trying to make sure that she wouldn't slip out of his grasp. "It's no good, guv'nor. She's out cold."

Carteraimed his flashlight at them, worry creasing his normally cheerful face. "Boy, I guess she really is hurt."

Newkirk glanced down at what she was wearing and frowned. A brown jacket covered her plain blouse, falling short of her green skirt's hemline. With any luck, she might have put it in one of her jacket pockets and simply remembered wrong.

"Sorry, luv." Newkirk apologized to her slumped form, despite the fruitlessness of the gesture. Hogan supposed that his British corporal didn't feel right about frisking an unconscious lady, and Hogan didn't blame him for his qualms. The corporal passed his hands lightly over the jacket, looking for a pocket with any kind of bulge in it. All of her pockets were empty.

He shook his head, squinting up at Hogan in the dimness. "It musta been in 'er saddle bag, guv, but when 'er horse got spooked it ran off."

"Taking the film with it." Hogan buried his face in his hands, scowling and shaking his head. "That's great. That is great!"

The longer they stayed out of camp, the more likely they'd be caught and shot by a patrol. Or worse. If they were interrogated, someone might slip up and give away important information about their operation or the underground before they were executed. Hogan consoled himself with the thought that most of the patrols would have been pulled to the east to investigate the destruction of the bridge, and not many would be in the north, where the supply depot was, but he still worried about the safety of his men. Carrying out their missions and winning the war were important, but the last thing Hogan wanted was to lose anyone. They'd become a close-knit, if unusual, family since they'd all been captured, and he'd be damned if he lost a single one of them because of some dame. Besides which, they couldn't just leave the film cannister lying around in the woods. If it was found and traced back to her, it might put members of the Hammelburg Underground at risk. Worse yet, they were taking her back to the camp. If by some chance it was found and it led the German authorities to Stalag 13, which was probably where Hocstetter would be sniffing around in a few days for clues about the sabotage, their whole operation would be blown wide open. No. They couldn't leave any breadcrumbs for the Krauts.

He pushed himself up from the ground, squinting at Carter. "Andrew, you grew up on a farm, right?"

"Yes sir. But we only had a couple horses-"

Hogan waved a hand, cutting him off. "Yeah, yeah. Look, find this horse, get the film and get madam back to camp."

Carter nodded. "Right, sir. See you back there."

Hogan smirked, patting Carter's shoulder. "Yeah, if we don't get shot." He shook his head and set off after Kinch at a quick pace, muttering to himself. "I need a vacation…"

"Right, Andrew, let's get 'er up." Newkirk paused, craning his neck to look at her thoughtfully. As far as he could tell, she was still out cold. "Think she can walk?"

"'M not sure," she mumbled and squeezed her eyes tightly shut before attempting to move.

Carter shook his head. "It'd be faster if we carried her, even if she can walk."

Newkirk stopped her from trying to sit with a gentle hand on her arm. "'E's right. You watch out for trouble, Carter, and I'll take care of the lady."

He was about to scoop her into his arms when her eyes went wide in alarm. "You have to find my horse!"

"Sorry, luv, but I'm more worried about gettin' you back to our 'ome sweet 'ome in one piece, like the colonel said to."

Carter shook his head again. "The colonel also said to find the film."

Newkirk rolled his eyes dramatically. "'Ow important can it be, Andrew? More important than-"

He looked down to see Nightingale grasping his arm. Despite her injuries, she managed to have a firm grip, proving how urgent she was to convince him. "Important enough for me to risk my life getting it to you." She looked worried but determined that they not leave without the film.

Newkirk sighed, flexing his hands nervously. He nodded to Carter. "All right, but be quick about it. Meantime, luv, let's try to keep you warm." He took off his jacket, draping it over her and carefully gathering her into his arms. He knew that his thin jacket wouldn't do much good, but combined with some of his body heat, it might keep her from freezing.

Carter shrugged off his fleece-lined bomber jacket and handed it over. "Here, mine's warmer."

He seemed concerned when he saw the blood on Newkirk's hands, momentarily stopping what he was doing, but after a headshake and a sharp look from Newkirk, he didn't ask about the blood and was quick to get back on task.

"D'you know where the horse might have gone?"

Nightingale frowned, trying to think as Newkirk covered her with the second jacket. The sudden warmth of his body against her back, as well as the jackets draped over her, and the feeling of relief at having made contact with members of the underground, were all combining to make her very drowsy.

"She was nearby until the explosion off to the east, I'm not sure where she went after that. Her name's Frieda."

Carter nodded and started heading west, figuring that the frightened animal would have run away from the blast. "Here, Frieda. Here girl. Nice Frieda..." He walked off into the woods, softly calling the mare's name, trying to coax her out of hiding.

"So," Newkirk cleared his throat, suddenly feeling nervous for some reason. He'd always been something of a ladies' man, so why would one girl make him flustered? He was surprised that none of his usual chat-up lines were coming to mind, and had to think hard before coming up with something to say.

"'Ow long 'ave you lived in Germany, luv? Your English's too good for you to be a native."

She closed her eyes, too tired to keep them open any longer, and turned her head to the side, resting her cheek on Newkirk's chest. "A few years. Since '34."

Nightingale shivered, so Newkirk adjusted Carter's jacket over her, whistling low. "That's more'n a few years, luv. Why'd you come 'ere, of all places?"

"Family issues. It's a long story." She shifted against him, letting her head rest more heavily on his chest. Nightingale twisted to one side, wanting to avoid putting any pressure on the back of her head, and ended up with her cheek pressed just below Newkirk's shoulder.

A cold wind whipping through the trees convinced him to put his hands under Carter's jacket. "Sorry, luv. Just tryin' to warm me 'ands up." He paused mid-motion while rubbing his palms together. "'Old on. 'Family issues'?" Newkirk chuckled. "Don't tell me you're part Kraut?"

"No." She smiled drowsily, eyes still closed. "I married one."

Newkirk stared at her, his mouth opening and closing like it had a mind of his own. A little while later, when Carter came back with the horse, Newkirk still hadn't managed to say anything to Nightingale.

"Shh, easy Frieda. See, it's alright." Carter stopped a few feet away and looped the reins around a low branch. He petted the mare's nose soothingly. "See, your person is okay. How're you guys do-" His voice died when he saw how cozy Newkirk and Nightingale were.

"Holy cow! Never mind how, _what_ are you doin'?"

Newkirk rolled his eyes, keeping his voice low. He wasn't sure if Nightingale had fallen asleep or passed out, but in either case he didn't want to wake her. "Ease off, Carter. I'm just keepin' me 'ands warm with your jacket. No cause for a fuss. You find it alright?"

Carter nodded, holding up the canister and shifting from one foot to the other, shivering. "Yeah, right where you thought it'd be. Geez, it's cold out here! Hand me back my jacket, will ya?"

Newkirk shot him a scorching look. "An' let 'er freeze? Not a chance, mate. I'm cold, too, but we can make it back to camp all right. It's not more'n two miles, an' we'll be movin' along quick."

Carter smiled disarmingly. "Oh, heck, I didn't mean for her to be cold, but- " he stepped over to the saddle and loosened a bundle. "We can wrap her in this."

Carter walked over to Newkirk and the woman, clumsily trying to unroll the bundle. It started to unfurl and he caught the end, stopping it from trailing on the ground.

"See, it's a blanket."

Newkirk smiled. It never failed to amaze him how happy Carter could get over something as basic as a blanket, but his amusement faded when Nightingale didn't open her eyes. Carter and Newkirk retrieved their jackets and hastily put them back on before carefully wrapping the blanket around her. Newkirk got to his feet with some help from Carter, and they set off for camp, hoping the rest of Hogan's crew wouldn't run into any trouble.


	5. Finishing The Mission

5

At that very moment, Kinch was hoping the same thing. He knelt down by an oil drum, making sure the dynamite was securely in place at the drum's base. The drum was one of many in the supply depot, and it just so happened that the oil and gasoline drums, as well as the bullets and heavy artillery ammunition, were all kept in the same general area. An area which wasn't too far from the depot's perimeter fence. Kinch shook his head. He was almost tempted to walk right up to the kraut in charge of security and set him straight. This arrangement made it so easy for saboteurs, and he guessed that was a good thing, seeing as he _was_ a saboteur, but the foolishness of the design annoyed him. Plus, having all the flammable materials together? That was just bad planning. From a strategic perspective, there were just so many things _wrong_ with the depot's security and layout that Kinch almost suspected it was a trap custom-built to lure sabotage attempts. However, if it was built as a trap, he, LeBeau, and Hogan would have already been caught, so he just chalked it up to poor planning.

Once he was sure the dynamite was in place, Kinch stayed crouched down and turned to Hogan. "Colonel, why did you send Laurel and Hardy off with the girl? Aren't you worried they might foul things up?"

Hogan was busy wiring in the charges. He grunted quietly, checking that each connection was secure as he went along. "Not really, Kinch. I mean, can you imagine any situation where Newkirk would let a girl get hurt?"

Kinch grinned, but the grin was quickly replaced by a more thoughtful, confused expression. He rubbed a knuckle at his forehead, watching Hogan work. "True, colonel, but if that's the case, why didn't you send LeBeau with him instead of Carter?"

"I've been wondering that myself." LeBeau turned around partway, talking over his shoulder as he played lookout. Kinch got up, lightly tapped his arm, and took over as sentry, letting LeBeau move closer to talk with the colonel. The Frenchman nodded his thanks to the sergeant, rubbing his hands together to warm them up as he took Kinch's spot. "Carter is our explosives expert, Colonel. He should have been helping with this job instead of babysitting a frauline. I could do that with my eyes closed."

Hogan grinned as he put the last wire in place, keeping his hands steady and laughing quietly to himself only after the connection was made. "Right, but you wouldn't, 'cause then you wouldn't be able to look at her."

They made sure the charges were secure against a stand of oil drums before running a cable from the fuse box to the dynamite. Then they slipped back through the hole they'd cut in the fence, and ran up a hill. Hogan turned to the small Frenchman, a wry grin on his face. "Besides, LeBeau, you're not giving yourself enough credit. We all know enough about our jobs by now to set a demolition pack without needing Carter to tell us how. Here, Louis," he handed LeBeau the detonator. He still thought that he'd made the right call, picking Carter to help with the girl, but he felt a little bad about depriving the amorous Frenchman of feminine contact, so he offered the man a different kind of treat. "It's your turn to throw the switch."

LeBeau looked surprised by the gesture. "Merci, mon colonel." He quickly rubbed his gloved hands together, trying to bring his fingers back to life before he stepped to the box. LeBeau pressed down on the handle. There was a whirring sound from inside the fuse box, then an orange cloud of flame and smoke billowed up from the depot, accompanied by a thunderous sound of munitions, gasoline and oil igniting in secondary fires and explosions. Blaring sirens quickly joined the melee of sounds, convieniently drowning out Hogan's, Kinch's and LeBeau's sounds of joy.

The men clapped each other on the back, jumping up and down in excitement as they watched the inferno. Hogan grinned, not seeing the blaze, but instead picturing the frustrated looks on the kraut officer's faces in Berlin when they heard about the setback. He crossed his arms, admiring their handiwork. Light from the blaze flickered on his face, throwing strange, shifting shadows which made his grin seem almost devilish. "Y'know, I never get tired of doing that."

Kinch rubbed his hands together, his bright smile gleaming in the dark as he packed up the detonator and tucked it under one arm. "I gotta admit, colonel, it doesn't get old."

They headed back through the trees to the southwest, picking their way carefully and making sure they left no trail away from the smouldering depot. "C'mon, fellas, we did a good job tonight. We can celebrate back at camp with some of that wine from barracks four."

Lebeau hurried after them, adjusting his scarf to keep out the wind. Some heat from the burning depot reached where they'd been standing, but he knew that once they were back in the woods, the air would be much colder. He crossed his arms tightly, shivering as the wind shifted to the east. "I'd be happy if we just had some hot cocoa to warm us before bed. We have less than six hours until roll-call, and I for one am not looking forward to Schultz's wake-up call."

Hogan chuckled, in a much better mood now that they were more or less done for the night. "Want me to ask Klink to let us sleep in?"'

"Nevermind later roll calls, you could ask him to do a headcount in the barracks, so we don't have to go outside." Kinch shifted the detonator to his other arm. "I'm from Detroit, but these German winters are too cold for me."

They walked in relative silence for half an hour, quickly covering the two miles back to camp. LeBeau was the first one to break the quiet. "I hope the mademoiselle is alright. In this cold, and injured..." His voice was low, and he sounded worried.

Hogan shrugged. "She'll be alright, Louis. The guys are with her. Matter of fact, they're probably back at camp by now."

"Yeah," Kinch smiled, "and my money's on Newkirk makin' a few passes at her before they even reached the stump."

Hogan nodded, a knowing expression on his face. "Exactly why I sent Carter along. Our boyscout'll make sure Newkirk stays in line."

All three men stopped talking as they headed for the stump and crouched down, hiding from a searchlight as it passed over the area. Once the woods were dark again, Hogan opened the entrance and ushered his men into the tunnel. He had to close the top again and hide behind a bush from the searchlight after Kinch was inside, but soon after he was climbing down the ladder.

Since they hadn't been wearing greasepaint and all-black gear, they didn't stay long in the tunnel. LeBeau put away the detonator with the rest of their equipment while Kinch checked with Baker to see if there had been any radio messages from London or the underground. None had come in, except for a response to a message Carter had sent out. Kinch put it in his pocket to bring to the colonel and he told Baker to give London their standard 'mission accomplished' signal, before heading up to the barracks.


	6. Shaking Things Up

6

Hogan went on ahead, surprised that he didn't run into Newkirk, Carter, the woman, or Sergeant Wilson, their medic, before reaching the ladder to their barracks. He looked around, wondering if maybe they'd set her up in one of the other connecting tunnels. After all, they did have some accommodations for guests down there, consisting of a bunk, a record player, and even an easy chair. Many underground couriers and fliers had been stuck down there for days at a time, so they'd tried to make it comfortable. Hogan shrugged when he didn't find any sign of her. He'd deal with the woman after he'd gotten some shuteye. Right then, he was too beat to make any command decisions or worry about espionage. He opened the entrance and climbed up into the hut, heading straight to his quarters after closing the bunk behind himself.

He glanced over to the bunks nearest the door and paused, seeing that both Newkirk's and Carter's bunks were empty. Of course, they were probably getting her settled in down below. Still, it struck him as odd that Carter would be doing that. It wouldn't surprise him if Newkirk stayed with the girl until rollcall – or until someone dragged him away by the scruff of his neck – but Carter was usually shy around women. He wouldn't hang around for long, and, besides, they would have gotten back nearly an hour before Hogan did.

Hogan blinked, yawning, and started to walk towards his quarters. He paused again when he saw a light under his door and heard muffled voices. He narrowed his eyes, walking faster as he passed the stove and quickly opened the door.

The first thing he saw was Carter leaning against his desk, looking uncomfortable. Sergeant Wilson was sitting next to the lower bunk with his first aid kit open nearby, and the woman was sitting on the bunk, propped up by Newkirk, who had his arm wrapped around her waist.

Hogan stood in the doorway for a moment, just looking at everyone. When he spoke, his voice dripped sarcasm. "May I ask what's going on here? I was planning on sleeping in my quarters tonight, but if it would be more convienient for all of you, I could book a room elsewhere."

Everyone was startled the moment he came in. Carter seemed embarrassed to be in his CO's quarters without permission, Wilson paused momentarily before he resumed tending to Nightingale, and Newkirk was sheepish.

"Andrew," he nodded to Carter, leaving him the task of keeping Nightingale upright, since she appeared to only be semi-conscious. He stood and went over to Hogan, not wanting to speak too loudly for fear of waking Nightingale.

"We 'ad 'er down in the tunnel, sir, but Wilson said with that gash on the back of 'er head it would be better if we kept 'er up 'ere. Somethin' about the tunnels bein' so damp that the wound might get infected."

Hogan took off his cap, tossing it onto the top bunk like a frisbee. "Uh-huh, yeah. And when the krauts find her up here we'll all get lead poisoning."

His voice was tight with irritation. It had been such a good mission, both targets taken care of, no one hurt or captured, but they just _had _to find a stray. Yeah, she was one of theirs, but it still complicated things. He removed his bomber jacket, hanging it up on a corner of his locker. Still facing away from the group, he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to regain his previous good mood.

"Did you at least get the film?"

Newkirk went back to the bed and nudged Carter's arm, indicating that he should finish making the report to Hogan. Carter flashed a quick, nervous smile at him and moved aside, letting Newkirk slide in beside Nightingale so the corporal could take charge of her again. She muttered something when he adjusted his hold on her and Newkirk froze, watching her carefully, but she remained unconscious.

"Yes sir. I've got it right here" Carter nodded, standing up straight and patting the pocket he'd put the film canister in.

Hogan relaxed a little. That was a weight off his mind. He'd been worried that Carter and Newkirk might have drawn attention to themselves, crashing around in the woods in the middle of the night looking for a horse, but now that everyone was back safe and they had the film, they were saved from having to dodge krauts on a contact mission. He rubbed a hand over his face. They were okay. Assuming they didn't get any more surprises in the next few days.

"Well, at least that's something." Hogan leaned against the wall by his locker and yawned, muffling it into his palm.

Wilson was having a hard time working in the low light from Hogan's desk lamp, so Newkirk shifted his arm again, turning Nightingale a little so the medic could get a better look at her head to stich her up, and Carter tried to help by adjusting the arm of the lamp, aiming it more directly at the three of them. When they had brought her into the office she had complained of being tired, so at first Wilson had tried to take care of her injuries with her lying down on the lower bunk, but they quickly realized that it was impossible for him to work like that without getting in the way of the light.

They had helped her to sit up again and Newkirk slid in beside her, trying to make her more comfortable while Wilson worked. Carter perched on Hogan's desk, nervously playing with a bit of a worn down pencil. He heard Newkirk murmuring to her every so often, and once in a while she would answer, but he was too far away to be able to hear what either of them were saying.

Wilson had made sure that she didn't have a fever and assessed how bad her concussion was by shining a light in each of her eyes, checking to see if her pupils dilated, and he started sewing up the gash on her head after disinfecting it with some liquor which Newkirk had liberated from Klink's office a few weeks before. The bleeding had stopped by the time Wilson got to her, and a quick exam reassured him that it wasn't a penetrating wound, but without any way to do an x-ray, he couldn't be certain that she didn't have a hairline skull fracture. He'd do a more thorough exam the next day, when there was more light in the office and he could get a better look at her. Naturally, they would post men at the doors and windows on lookout for approaching guards, and someone else would have the specific job of hiding her if they weren't able to keep Schultz in the main part of their barracks.

Schultz wasn't the main concern. He had looked the other way before when he had found women in their barracks, even going so far as to let Tiger fall out for roll call in Newkirk's place. However, if Klink or Hochstetter came to their hut, Hogan and his men would need to do some quick thinking, because if either of *them* found her there, they would all be in very hot water.

Newkirk's arm slipped in place, jostling her slightly, and this time her eyes opened for a brief moment, settling on him. She seemed momentarily confused, looking over at the colonel before closing her eyes again. Shortly after that, she shifted in Newkirk's arms, trying to get more comfortable, and ended up leaning her cheek on the corporal's chest.

Newkirk looked down at her, slightly puzzled by her behavior, but mostly just happy to be so close to a beautiful woman. Of course, he appreciated that she felt safe enough with him to be sitting like that, and he didn't want to do anything to violate that trust, but he knew that if she weren't hurt, he might have tried for a discreet fondle. As it was, of course, he wouldn't take advantage of her. Newkirk shook himself a tiny bit, trying to participate in the conversation.

"Job go alright, colonel?"

Hogan shot Newkirk a look as if to say 'we really shouldn't talk about that with her here'.

"You don't haveta worry about security, colonel." Carter smiled, looking proud of himself. "Once we got back, we called the underground and checked her out. Conrad said she really is Nightingale, but just to be safe, though, we blindfolded her before we got to the tunnel entrance, so if she turned out to be a spy, she wouldn't know where it was."

Newkirk gave a wry grin, remembering the clown act they'd done at the stump. "That made gettin' 'er into the tunnel a right adventure, didn't it, mate?" He sobered slightly, "the fact that she was out cold didn't help much either."

Carter had gone down first, running to get Wilson and bringing him back to the base of the ladder at the tunnel entrance before giving Newkirk the go-ahead to lower her down to them. Newkirk had one moment of sheer panic during that part. He couldn't lower her all the way down to where Carter and Wilson were standing, so he'd had to let her fall almost two feet into the other men's arms. It was especially hard coordinating all that with the searchlight passes, so much so that they'd considered setting up a diversion near another part of the wire to draw the lights away from the stump, but it hadn't been necessary. Getting her up into the barracks had been only slightly easier, since at that end they didn't have to worry about the searchlight or guards, but they were fighting gravity. They figured the best way would be for one or two guys to help steady her from above while Newkirk climbed next to her, making sure she had a good hold on the rungs, and Carter following right behind, watching where she put her feet. Of course, that was assuming that she would be aware enough to help them when they got to the bunk entrance, and she hadn't been. The guys briefly squabbled over which one of them should be the one to carry her 'upstairs', but Wilson decided the issue for them. They'd called up into the hut for help, but by then most of the men were asleep and didn't want to get up. However, once the men heard the magic word – girl – they swarmed the entrance.

The crowd of excited men that gathered around them once she was out of the tunnel made it impossible to properly look after her, so they took her into Hogan's office, telling the rest of the men to go back to bed and that they'd hear all about it in the morning. The men had gone, but not without grumbling.

"Well, I guess I can breathe again." Hogan smiled at them. He remembered the last time Newkirk brought a girl in through the tunnel. She'd been a Gestapo informant, and they'd had to do some very fancy footwork to avoid Hochstetter's firing squad. [1] He was glad that his men were being more careful now. "Good thinking. Well, the job went of without a hitch."

"And the depot?"Carter couldn't help asking. If he couldn't be there in person when the charges went off, he at least wanted to hear about the 'big boom' he'd helped to create.

Hogan's smile turned mischevious, laugh-lines surrounding his eyes. "Louis made a lovely flambé."

Newkirk grinned and turned to Nightingale. "Amazin' chef, our Louis. 'E can cook with any ingredients." He wasn't sure if she even heard him. Her eyelids twitched when he spoke, and she smiled a very little bit, but that was it.

He looked at Wilson expectantly. The sergeant nodded, packing away his supplies, so Newkirk rubbed a thumb across her shoulder. "C'mon, luv. Time for you to get some sleep."

Nightingale seemed to nod, muttering something that sounded like "Okay," as he helped her to lie down comfortably on the lower bunk.

Wilson closed his kit and got up, and Hogan looked at him anxiously. Despite how gruff Hogan had been, he wanted the lady to be alright, and not just because she had information about what they were supposed to do with the film. He assumed that it was going to be developed and sent to London by courier, but there was always the off chance of film being used some other way. Getting back to the girl, though... she was an underground agent, and that made her family.

"What's the word, sergeant?"

Wilson stepped away from the bed and sighed, glancing back at her once with a worried frown. "She's got a pretty bad concussion, colonel, a laceration on the back of her head, plus a few scrapes and bruises on her back and arms. Newkirk said she fell from a horse, so the concussion and bruising make sense, but that gash is something else."

Danny shook his head, staring at Nightingale with a perplexed expression until Hogan spoke. "How is it different?" The colonel's stern, no-nonsense tone snapped the medic out of his thoughts.

"I really don't know how to explain this, sir, but the gash looks like a bullet grazed her. Do we know what happened to her?"

Hogan rested his temple against the side of his locker, tightly squinting his eyes shut before pulling them open again. "No idea. We'll ask her in the morning."

He rubbed at his chin, feeling the stubble and wondering how much fuss Klink would make if he showed up at morning rollcall with a five-o'clock shadow. He smirked to himself. It would probably just be the usual huffing and puffing routine and no punishment, but with Nightingale in their hut, he wasn't willing to leave anything to chance. Their paranoid kommandant might very well get suspicious that his prisoners were up to no good, which of course they were, but the krauts didn't need to know that. He might think that Hogan had been up late working on a tunnel – ridiculous, since all of their tunnels were completed over two years before – and Klink could decide to do a barracks search. It was an unlikely possibility, but one that Hogan had to consider as the man in charge. Of course, knowing their vigilant kommandant, the iron eagle might simply order Schultz to watch Hogan shave, just to make sure that he did it. In that case, Hogan would only have to find some excuse to shave out in the main barracks instead of his office, to prevent Nightingale from being discovered.

"Well, I cleaned and stiched it up the best I could, and gave her something for the pain. A few days bedrest would be the best thing for her, and she really shouldn't try to move all that much or walk on her own for at least a day or two."

Hogan nodded, rubbing at his forehead again. He was listening to Danny, but his brain was still going full-tilt thinking about falling out unshaven. He was simply too tired to shave before hitting the hay that night, and he really didn't like the idea of getting up early just to spruce himself up for the krauts.

"What about putting her down in the tunnel?"

Newkirk bristled._ The colonel makes it sound like she's just a sack of ruddy potatoes 'e wants to chuck in the cellar!_

He twitched, but continued getting her settled. He knew the colonel didn't mean it like that. The man was just tired and trying to work things out, and tact was usually one of the first things to go when Hogan was tired _and _worried. It didn't mean he was heartless, just that he was exploring all the options. Newkirk gestured to Carter, motioning him to come closer.

"Where'd we put that blanket she 'ad with 'er?"

Carter tipped his head, squinting his green eyes before his face brightened. "Still in the tunnel. I'll send Olsen."

Newkirk grinned at him as he hurried out. "Thanks, mate." Nightingale was shivering slightly. He pulled the thin wool blanket up further, but it didn't seem to do much good, and his grin faded quickly.

The medic shook his head at Hogan's question. "Tunnel's a bad idea until that gash heals. Like Newkirk said, there's a good chance it would get infected if she's down there, and with how weak she already is, I don't want to chance it. If we had some penicillin it would be a different story, but we don't, and if we try to move her down there, it's likely she'll fall off the ladder and injure herself further. It's a miracle we managed to get her down the tunnel and up into the barracks without breaking her neck." Wilson jammed his hands into his pockets, shaking his head. "She's in bad shape, colonel."

Hogan looked sidelong at the bunk, frowning too when he saw how rough Nightingale looked. Her pale, bruised face bore a pained expression, her slender body shivered under the dark wool blanket, and the white bandage which covered the stitches peeking out from under her hair completed the look. He closed his eyes, not wanting to ask the next question but knowing he had to. Among other things, he had a sinking feeling that the answer wouldn't be encouraging.

"How soon do you think?"

Wilson just shrugged. "Wish I knew. We'll just have to see how quickly she improves. We really shouldn't try to put her down there until she can walk short distances on her own. If I had to guess, at least two days. Probably more like three."

Hogan nodded, resigning himself to the situation. He'd hoped the timetable would allow her to be moved sooner, but there was no point in trying to change it by grousing. "I'll have Kinch radio London to ask for a penicillin airdrop, that should help some."

The medic smiled. That was one less thing for him to worry about. "It will. Thank you, sir." With a ready supply of penicillin, they could keep Nightingale down in the tunnels until she was well enough to travel, however long that might take, and that way she'd have a much better chance of avoiding capture.

Hogan patted Wilson's shoulder. "No problem, Danny. Thanks for checkin' her out, now go get some sleep. You've earned it."

He looked over when Carter rushed back in, carrying a quilted blanket. Hogan couldn't help noticing smudges of what looked like dried blood on both Newkirk's and Carter's clothes. Newkirk jumped up, helping Carter lay the blanket over Nightingale's bunk. She gradually stopped shivering and shifted in the bed, smiling slightly as Newkirk adjusted the blanket.

Hogan watched her, equal parts curiosity and concern. "So I guess I have a bunkmate. I just hope she doesn't snore."

"I _don't_ snore."

The men all started, surprised to hear her speak. They hadn't known she was conscious, let alone listening to their conversations.

Hogan chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, milady, I'm callin' it a night. We'll talk tomorrow and take care of developing the film then."

She nodded sleepily, hitching the blanket up over her shoulders and closing her eyes again. "Thank you for your hospitality, colonel." Hogan couldn't be sure, but beneath the sleepy drawl, he thought he heard a hint of sarcasm.

Wilson headed for the door, but stopped with his hand on the knob. "I'll come back to check on her after roll call tomorrow, colonel."

Hogan nodded, signaling the other men that they should leave too. They both nodded their understanding. "Night, colonel, ma'am. I'll keep the film someplace safe."

She smiled sleepily at Carter. "Thanks."

Carter beamed at her and left the office. Newkirk sat on the edge of her bed a moment longer and patted her hand through the covers. "If you need anythin', darlin', just call on me."

Nightingale nodded, fighting to keep her eyes open. "I will, Peter. Thanks for being so kind." She smiled, glancing over at Hogan before whispering to Newkirk, "now, I think you should get out before the colonel skins you alive."

He grinned and then headed out too, almost banging into Kinch who appeared in the doorway, holding out a slip of paper. "Message from Conrad, sir."

"Thanks, Kinch." Hogan took the slip, scanning it quickly. "This was his reply to Carter?"

"Yeah, came in before we got back." The sergeant handed over a second message. "And this just came in."

Hogan raised his eyebrows. "Message reads 'Do you have Nightingale? Worried missing. What tell baby birds? Reply asap.'" Hogan turned to look at Nightingale, seeming confused. "Baby birds?"

"My kids."

Hogan blinked, darting a glance at Kinch. An agent with kids. That was a new one. They'd worked with plenty of female agents; some who were married, some who were engaged to important krauts, but never one with kinder at home.

She opened her eyes, trying to focus on Conrad's question. Wilson had given her some kind of painkillers, and they were making it hard for her to think straight. "Umm, alright. Tell baby birds I'm roosting with friends for a while, and I'll return to the nest soon as I can."

Kinch looked at Hogan, waiting for his orders. Hogan nodded to the sergeant. "Send it off with our recognition code, then get some sleep."

"Wait." She tried to sit up, but only managed to move a few inches before her head fell back onto the mattress. She grimaced at the jolt of pain, shutting her eyes tightly against it as her thoughts became even more fuzzy. "Tell Conrad where to find the horse. She's tied up where you found me."

Hogan blinked at her incredulously. "Lady, do we look like cowboys? We have more important things to worry about than-"

She was breathing heavily from the pain of trying to sit up, but she stubbornly ground out "the horse belongs to one of Conrad's contacts. If she's found near the bridge and the depot-"

Hogan finished the thought. "It could lead back to the Hammelburg underground." He nodded, sighing and rubbing the back of his neck. "Add it to the message, Kinch."

Hogan gave her a complicated look. From what he'd seen so far, she wasn't a bad agent. She'd kept the film with her, just in case, and she was sharp enough to think of telling them about the horse; not to mention using proper recognition code in the woods_ and_ managing to compose a message – in code – with a concussion.

Kinch barely kept himself from smiling, his thoughts running along similar lines.

"Right away, colonel. Night, ma'am." He tipped his hat to her and paused in the doorway, then thought better of teasing the colonel and just closed the door behind himself.

* * *

[1] 3x20 "Sticky Wicket Newkirk"

_A/N: For you nit-pickers out there who are wondering 'does the door to Hogan's quarters actually have a knob?' the answer is yes. You can only see it a couple of times during the series, one of which is the second scene in 4x11"Bad Day In Berlin", when Major Teppel and Hogan are talking alone in his office. It is also visible during 2x17 "The General Swap" in the scene with the radio negotiation when Hogan's room is re-done as part of a mock British POW camp._


	7. A Girl In Camp

_A/N: Many thanks to L_JGroundwater for kindly beta-ing this monster of a WIP. I have replaced the original versions of chapters 1-7 with revised versions based on her suggestions thus far. With her help, I'm hoping to keep this story from straying into Mary-Sue territory. Also, there was some concern about inaccuracies; namely pillows and doorknobs. The pillows are gone, but after re-watching a few episodes from season one, I can confirm that the door to Hogan's private quarters does indeed have a doorknob. You can see it in 'Flight of The __Valkyrie' about halfway through._

* * *

7

Nightingale seemed to have drifted off again, so Hogan started to change out of his uniform. His boots were off and he was undoing his belt when a soft noise from the bunk caught his attention. He turned around to look, but her eyes were closed.

"Figures," he muttered. "First time in months I'm undressing with a woman in my room, and she's unconscious."

She made the noise again, and he saw that she was frowning a little. "Hope you weren't expecting to get anywhere with me, 'specially with how _kind_ you've been."

He smirked. "Hey, I could have ordered Wilson to keep you in the tunnel."

She opened one eye, returning the smirk. "And then you'd really be a heel." The eye closed again and her smirk faded. "Take a cue from Peter. Kindness works wonders on girls."

Hogan changed into his blue flannel sleepshirt and bathrobe, kicking off his pants and hanging them over his desk chair, along with his khaki shirt. "Just so you know, lady, I don't need pointers. I do alright with girls."

She shifted slightly on the thin, lumpy mattress, and winced when a sore spot protested. "Never said you didn't."

He turned out the light and climbed onto the top bunk, pulling the covers up and settling in for a few hours sleep before morning rollcall.

There were quiet footsteps outside the office, then the door opened a tiny crack. A sliver of light came into the office along with a soft voice. "Comfy, cherie?"

"Go to sleep, LeBeau," Hogan growled into his mattress without looking up.

The Frenchman made a face in the colonel's direction and tried to get a look at Nightingale, but he couldn't see much of anything in the dark room, so he closed the door.

Newkirk was lying in bed, grinning at the dejected look on LeBeau's face as he headed back to his bunk. "Struck out, did you, Louis?"

LeBeau gestured with his arm towards the office. "Colonel sent me away. She wanted to see me! Remember what she said in the woods? I simply wanted her to know that I was safe."

Carter and Newkirk shared a look. Newkirk rolled his eyes, then turned back to LeBeau. "Alright, mate, I'll bite. What exactly did she say to you?"

A rapturous look came over LeBeau's face as he climbed into bed. "She said 'Je ne serai pas heureux jusqu'à ce que je vois que vous êtes en sécurité.' So you see, she wouldn't have sent me away."

Carter looked puzzled as he lay down. "LeBeau, none of us speak French. What does that mean in English?"

LeBeau got under the covers, shaking his head a little at the naïve American. "It means, Andre, that she is a caring, beautiful woman fighting on our side."

Carter chuckled. "Well, heck. I coulda told you that."

Newkirk sighed heavily into his mattress, eyes closed. Even though he was under the covers, the shoulder of his striped granny nightshirt was still visible in the dark. "'E meant a translation, you romantic twit."

The lower bunk clattered open and Kinch climbed out. "It means 'I will not be happy until I see that you're safe.'"

Newkirk propped himself up on one elbow, looking curiously at the sergeant. "I've been meanin' to ask, Kinch, where did you learn French?"

He closed the tunnel entrance and lay down. "Story for another time, Newkirk. Colonel wants us all to get some sleep before our favorite kraut alarm clock goes off."


	8. Routine Spying

8

It seemed only minutes later when Sergeant Schultz burst into the hut, blowing his whistle. "Up up up up up! Evrrrrrybody up! Time for rollcall."

Scattered groans echoed from all around the barracks. Carter snuggled deeper into his bunk, muttering to the covers. "Just five more minutes, Schultz. We had a late night."

"Late night?" The sergeant's face was a picture of chubby confusion beneath his slightly askew helmet.

"But the lights were out by nine," he frowned, sighing and absently handing off his rifle to Newkirk as he scratched his head beneath the helmet, trying to understand. Schultz gave up after only a few seconds, and asked them in a playful, disbelieving tone, "what could you have been doing with the lights out?"

The men all shared michievous looks. They were fond of the good natured guard, but they never tired of giving him a hard time.

"You see, Schultz," Kinch pulled himself from his bunk, tugging on his fatigues and stretching as he headed for the door. "We were out late."

Carter tied his bootlaces and put on his coat, casually glancing at LeBeau. "Yeah, and there are plenty of lights in our tunnel."

"Huh, jolly jokers. Now raus! Outside for rollcall."

The Frenchman grinned, grabbing his beret and tucking the scarf into the collar of his coat. "Oui, but it gets cold down there." He poked Schultz's sizeable belly. "Think you could get us some heaters, Schultz? I'll make you strudel."

"Struudel." Schultz closed his eyes for a moment, licking his lips. He shook himself, then bounced Lebeau off his stomach and towards the door. "And where would I get heaters, huh? Maybe I could take one from the kommandant, tell him his prisoners wish to be more comfortable while they're trying to escape."

The door to Hogan's office opened. "Couldn't hurt to ask, Schultz." He carefully shut the office door behind himself, wanting to hide Nightingale from view.

Schultz's double chin wobbled as he shook his head, not noticing when Hogan glanced behind himself, double-checking that the door was shut tight. "Nein! It could hurt me. I hear that frostbite is very painful, not to mention Russian bullets."

"Oh, come off it, Schultzie. Ol' Klink might not send you to the front."

The guard smiled at Newkirk, leaning forward towards the corporal. "You really think so?"

Newkirk grinned, handing back the rifle and slapping Schultz's back as he headed out. "Nah, 'e'll probly just make you one of us."

Schultz whimpered as he herded the last men outside. "Puhleeze, Newkirk. Don't give me any trouble. Herr Kommandant is even less nice than usual today."

The men fell into line, most of them shifting from one foot to the other in an effort to warm themselves up. Kinch cupped his hands over his mouth, exhaling warm breath onto his fingers to keep them from freezing, and smirked from the second row at the portly guard's comment. Hogan leaned toward Schultz, putting on a look of innocent curiosity. "Really? How can you tell?"

Schultz paused in walking up the line to start the count. He leaned towards Hogan, first checking that no other guards would see him gossiping with the prisoners. "Because, instead of shouting this morning," a pause for dramatic effect, "he yelled. Huh huh!"

Hogan and his men all chuckled as Schultz moved off, counting. "Eins, zwei, drei, vier, fünf... "

Newkirk casually leaned towards Hogan in the ranks, muttering out one side of his mouth, "I been meanin' to ask, sir, 'ow's the bird this mornin'?"

"...sechs, sieben, acht, neun..."

LeBeau lit up, shifting in place as he tried to stay warm. "Oui, colonel, how is the mademoiselle? Did she ask for me?" He turned to Carter, rubbing his hands together and nodding at the sergeant. "I'll bet she asked for me."

"...zehn, elf, zwölf..."

"Thanks a lot, Newkirk." Hogan glared playfully at the corporal. "Now you've made the natives restless." He shrugged, letting the glare melt away. "She seemed fine. Woke up a little when I was getting dressed, but she'd drifted back to sleep before I left."

"That's good, then." Newkirk shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, nodding to himself. "Wilson said she should rest."

"...dreizehn, vierzehn, fünfzehn!" As usual, Schultz sounded extremely happy that all the men from barracks two were at rollcall.

"Repooort!"

He hurried over to Kommandant Klink, waddling a bit before coming to attention.

"Herr Kommandant, all present and accounted for."

Klink fiddled with his riding crop, twisting it under his arm. With the way the kommandant worried at that thing, Hogan was surprised that the leather of crop wasn't fraying at the handle. "Good." Klink stalked over to the ranks of prisoners, sniffing and narrowing his eyes. "And it had better stay that way! Dissssmissed!"

He threw off a hasty salute and hurried back to his headquarters, out of the cold morning air. Hogan shook his head. He couldn't help thinking that Klink's topcoat was warmer than anything any of the prisoners were wearing, especially with his fur collar, and the kommandant had been outside for a far shorter time than the POWs.

_One of the few perks of being a kraut. Schultz is right, though. Something is bugging our beloved kommandant._

The men dispersed, heading back inside to warm up. As the barracks door closed behind the last man, Carter added wood to the stove. Hogan leaned against the table, pushing back his cap. "I wonder what's bothering ol' blood and guts."

Newkirk swung one leg over the bench, sitting down with a cup of coffee. "More importantly, sir, do we care?"

Hogan raised his eyebrows. "Of course we do, Newkirk. Concern for our fellow man is what separates us from our enemies." The men all smirked at his wry tone. "Plus, whatever it is might end up coming back to hurt us. Kinch, you sent off that message alright last night?"

The radioman nodded, cupping his hands around a mug of hot coffee. "Conrad's reply was just one word: understood, so I figured it could wait til morning."

Carter came over with two cups of coffee and handed one to the colonel. "What's the move, sir?"

Hogan sipped the brew, looking thoughtful. "We warm up the other coffee pot and find out whats buggin' Klink."

Worry lines formed around Newkirk's blue eyes. If all the men traipsed into Hogan's office, they were sure to wake up Nightingale. "Colonel, dontcha think we should let 'er sleep? I mean, she 'ad a rough time last night-"

"So did we, Newkirk, but our operation can't come to a halt just because madame needs her sleep." He looked around the table, and a frown creased his forehead. "Hold on, we're missing someone. Where's LeBeau?"

The little Frenchman was nowhere to be seen. He'd been the first one back inside, and it didn't take much time to guess where he'd gone. They all got up, heading for the office.

Hogan pushed open the door and glared. LeBeau was sitting by the bunk on a stool. The blanket from Hogan's upper bunk had been folded over several times and put under Nightingale's head, and just then LeBeau was fussing with the blanket which was draped over her. The colonel came in, followed by the others, who stood just inside the doorway, gaping at him like a bunch of landed fish. Kinch was the first to find his voice.

"What are you doin'? Don't you know that you aren't supposed to put a pillow under someone's head if they're unconscious?"

Nightingale stirred in the bed, turning her head towards the wall and away from the sound of Kinch's voice. Her movement made the bandage visible; a small spot of white gauze surrounded by messy auburn hair.

LeBeau rolled his eyes, going over to the others so they could talk without disturbing her.

"Oui, I do." He poked a finger at Kinch's chest, glaring challengingly up at the much taller man. "Don't _you _know that you aren't supposed to leave an unconscious person alone? Someone should be with her at all times… Besides, she wasn't unconscious when I put it there. She asked for a pillow, so I got one for her. I was just trying to make le mademoiselle comfortable. I came in here to check on her, and since I was here already, I just thought that I'd warm up the coffee pot -"

"Nevermind." Hogan shook his head. They could all be shot if the krauts found Nightingale, and just when his men needed to be on the alert for trouble, discipline was going to the dogs. "Lets find out what's wrong in krautland, besides Hitler."

They plugged in the pot, and a familiar pompus voice floated through the basket.

"_Yes, General Burkhalter, a shameful action. What? Oh, of course sir, you weren't asking my opinion. May I ask, then why is it you called me?"_

"_To warn you that the Gestapo will be in the area investigating the sabotage."_

"_No need to worry General, I'll cooperate fully with the Gestapo. I always do."_

"_Even that won't discourage them."_

"_Yes sir, how very witty."_

"_Nevermind wit, Klink! I don't expect it of you. However, I do expect that the state of your camp won't embarrass me in the eyes of the Gestapo. I've given up on trying to impress them with your personnel. Just have the camp in regulation order for when the Major comes."_

Klink gulped audibly. It was common knowledge that he hated and feared Hochstetter, and dreaded the man's visits._ "__Yes __sir, __I __will __do __my __very __best.__"_

Burkhalter sighed._ "__Yah, __and __I __know __how __good __your __best __is. __Heil __Hitler!__"_

The line clicked off before Klink could respond. He hung up the phone, muttering to himself_.__ "__Ohh, __that __Hochstetter! __I __can__'__t __stand __the __man. __Fraulien __Helga!__"_

There was the sound of footsteps, a door opening, and then a sultry feminine voice responded. _"__Herr __Kommandant?__"_

"_Get Sergeant Schultz and the other barracks guards in my office on the double."_

"_Jawol, herr Kommandant."_

The office door closed and Klink muttered to himself. _"__We__'__ll __just __see __if __the __Gestapo __find __anything __wrong __with __Stalag __13.__"_


	9. Another Day In Paradise

9

Hogan turned off the coffee pot and Kinch shook his head. "What do we do, colonel?"

"Nothing, yet, but when we get the word that the Gestapo are coming into camp, I wanna be ready for anything. Kinch, standby to pull all the bugs from Klink's office if we think they might do a sweep, but leave the coffeepot mic in place. We'll cut that wire if necessary when the time comes. Carter, LeBeau, make sure all our goodies are out of sight. Newkirk, check the explosives we've got set up for closing tunnel entrances. Don't set them off, just make sure they're ready to go if we need them."

"And me?"

The men all turned around, surprised to see Nightingale looking at them from the bunk. She was still lying down, her head cradled by the pillows, but she was staring at them steadily. She looked paler in the morning light than she had the night before, and the bruises and scratches on her face and neck stood out more clearly against her pale cheeks. Hogan made a mental note to ask Danny to do something about them. Despite the state she was in, he couldn't ignore the fact that she was lovely, and his irritation with her started to fade. After all, it wasn't her fault she'd gotten hurt.

"I can't be here if they do a barracks search."

Hogan sighed, "no, you can't, but Wilson says we can't move you, and you shouldn't be in the tunnels."

Newkirk poured her a glass of water from the pitcher on Hogan's desk. "Looks like we've got ourselves a sticky wicket." He went over to the bed and held the glass for her while LeBeau helped her sit up enough to drink.

Kinch nodded at Hogan and slipped out of the office while Hogan stood, arms crossed, one hip leaning against the desk, watching his men fawn over Nightingale.

She smiled at Newkirk over the rim of the glass. "Never been called a wicket before."

He tilted the glass for her, letting her take slow sips. She closed her eyes every so often, seeming very tired. It was a fight to stay in the same position. Her whole head throbbed, and the back of her neck was very sore, tender to the slightest touch, so trying to keep her head steady long enough to drink was a real struggle. LeBeau's hold on her was gentle as he helped her to stay upright, but she really just wanted to lie back against the pillows and sleep.

Newkirk frowned worriedly. "You alright, luv?" He kept his voice low, wary of causing her more pain.

She whimpered a tiny bit and closed her eyes. Having so many men hovering around her was strangely pressuring. It was clear that Hogan wanted her to stay out of the way, but the others, Newkirk especially, seemed eager to help her. She just didn't know what they could do to help. She was tired, and very sore, and hungry.

"Is your medic coming back?" Her voice was a weak tremble. The pain was almost a physical being, crushing her. "He gave me something, for the pain..."

Newkirk got her to drink another sip and smiled reassuringly, hiding his worry. If Klink decided to check the barracks before Hochstetter came, they were in serious trouble, and Wilson hadn't been kidding about her needing to rest. It was a hell of a dilemma. Let her rest upstairs and risk her getting shot along with the prisoners as a spy, or put her in the tunnels, where, if she wasn't hurt getting down there, she ran the risk of her wound getting infected. "'E should be 'ere any time. Anythin' else you need?"

Her eyebrows jerked up reflexively, making her wince. "Just some food," she whispered. "You said someone was a chef?"

LeBeau smiled, softly answering her. "Oui, I am. What would you like to eat, mon cher?"

Hogan cleared his throat. "Sorry to break up the party, but we have work to do. Carter, when you and LeBeau are finished, go down below and develop the film."

"Sure thing, colonel." Carter headed for the door, then paused, waiting for LeBeau to follow. After Newkirk set the glass aside, LeBeau got her settled against the pillows again.

"I will ask Wilson what you should have." He kissed her hand before heading out. "Until we meet again, cherie."

Nightingale smiled at him and then blinked, trying to wake herself up. "Colonel, can someone else develop the film?"

Hogan looked at her blankly, his eyes narrowed. So far, all her suggestions had been reasonable, but the interruptions and second-guessings of his orders were starting to annoy him. "Why?"

She fidgeted under his scrutiny. "The pictures are... graphic, and Carter's a nice kid. He really shouldn't be the one to develop them."

Newkirk patted her arm reassuringly. "Andrew can 'andle it, luv. 'E only seems like a big goof."

"Thanks a lot, pal." Carter scowled at him, then left with LeBeau.


	10. Changing Moods

10

Hogan plugged the coffee pot back in. He didn't expect to hear anything interesting; after all, he knew what Klink always did in these situations. He could almost have given the guards their orders himself, but he didn't want to run the risk of missing a change in the kommandant's routine.

"I'll be down in the tunnel then, gov." Newkirk smiled at Nightingale. "Back in a tick."

She nodded tiredly and stopped trying to keep her eyes open. Newkirk's footsteps headed towards the door, but the door didn't creak shut. Instead, a different set of footsteps paused in the doorway, and their owner knocked softly on the door. There was a creak of wood, she supposed a chair leg scraping over the floor, and Hogan spoke.

"Come in, Wilson. She's been awake for a while."

Wilson's footsteps crossed over towards the bed, and he sat on the edge. Another kind of wooden creak, and he whispered to Hogan. "Sir? Her eyes are closed." Wilson turned back to her, keeping his voice low. "Ma'am, you awake?

"I'd rather not be," she muttered sullenly.

Wilson patted her arm gently, careful to avoid the bruises. "I'll give you something for the pain." He shook a few pills out of a bottle and put them in her hand. "Just hold on to those while I get some water." He turned to get up, but stopped when he saw Hogan offering him the partially-filled glass. Wilson was a little surprised that Hogan was trying to help, but he didn't let on, and only nodded to his CO.

"Here, ma'am. Just swallow these."

She nodded, bringing the pills up to her mouth, but having difficulty with the glass. She couldn't sit up to take a drink, and she didn't want to risk spilling it all over the bed, so she was stuck. Nightingale closed her eyes, frustrated by her own weakness.

"I could use some help, sergeant."

The next thing she knew, she was being gently lifted up. Relieved, she let herself sag against the person holding her upright. The glass was brought up to her mouth, and after a swallow of water, the pills were down. "Thanks," she breathed, opening her eyes. She started to lower the glass and Wilson took it from her, putting it back on Hogan's desk, but somehow she was still sitting upright, even after the medic got up. Confused, she turned her head, trying to see who was behind her, but stopped when her neck throbbed in protest.

"Who-?" She closed her eyes tightly, groaning a little and biting her lower lip to stop herself from whimpering. She rested her head against the mysterious man's chest, breathing heavily as she tried to think through the pain that enveloped her mind.

"Just call me Papa Bear." The deep voice rumbled from his chest, echoing around inside her head until she felt like she'd gotten trapped in a belfry. She whimpered, shutting her eyes tightly and trying to block out the cacophony of sound.

She heard Wilson's voice come from far away, "here, lie her down again." Hands gently lowered her back onto the bunk, then covered her with the blankets. "Let her rest for a while."

A cool cloth was pressed to her forehead. She sighed as the pain abated slightly. Wilson checked through his supplies, making sure he had enough painkillers and gauze to last until she could be moved. He was glad Hogan had decided to ask for an air drop of penicillin, just to make sure her wound didn't get infected. It was a nasty gash, and even with stitches, it would be a long time before it healed. Hogan went back to listening to the coffee pot with the volume turned down low, occasionally jotting down notes. Both men were just biding their time, waiting for her to come around again. It was quiet in the office, the only sound being the low droning of the coffee pot, when Newkirk came back.

He knocked softly on the office door before sticking his head in. "All set down below, colonel," he said in a stage whisper.

Hogan turned around and nodded his acknowledgement. "Fine, Newkirk."

He turned back to the coffee pot, rubbing the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. He'd been listening to radio Klink for more than thirty minutes, and he'd just about had it. Usually, he only dealt with Klink for a few minutes at a time, and having to listen to the pompous kommandant for such a long stretch was really wearing on his nerves. Still, if Klink received another phone call from Berkhalter or one from the Gestapo, Hogan didn't want to miss it, so he kept listening.

"'Ow is she?" Newkirk walked over to the lower bunk, a worried frown creasing his forehead. Wilson was still sitting by the bed, ready to continue his checkup as soon as she came to, so Newkirk sat on the edge of the bunk. He realized that no one had answered his question, so he asked it again.

"Wilson, 'ow is she?"

The sergeant shrugged. "About the same as last night. I gave her something for the pain, but sitting up to drink really took a lot out of her."

Newkirk nodded, then gestured to her forehead. "An' the cloth?"

Wilson adjusted the cloth and frowned when he felt how much it had dried out. "It seemed to help. Like I said, it's a bad concussion." Wilson shook his head, removing the cloth to re-wet it. "I really don't think we should try to move her until the day after tomorrow. She's suffered severe head trauma and she's very weak." He put the cloth in a bowl of water, then wrung it out and replaced it on her forehead.

After the cloth was in place, he handed Newkirk the bowl and stood up. "If there's nothin' else, colonel, I'm gonna go get some breakfast."

"Alright," Hogan jerked his head toward the door, indicating the main part of their barracks. "Have Louis fix you something here. I want you nearby when she wakes up."

Newkirk was puzzled by his CO's apparent change in attitude towards their guest. Wasn't it just a few hours ago that he was annoyed by her being in the camp, let alone in his quarters? However, he had a more pressing concern at the moment. He put the bowl of water aside, careful not to let it slosh onto the floor, and followed Wilson, stopping him in the doorway. "Danny, when she was awake earlier, she mentioned bein' 'ungry. LeBeau wanted to ask you what she should be eating, what with 'er injuries an' all."

Wilson nodded quickly, heading out the door. "I'll talk to LeBeau about it."

Newkirk patted his shoulder, relieved to be doing something useful. "Thanks, chum." He turned, closing the door behind himself and reclaiming his seat by the bed.

He just sat for a while, tuning out the low droning of Klink's office tap. After a few minutes the coffee pot clicked off and he turned around, seeing Hogan sitting at his desk, rubbing at his forehead. The colonel had been listening to Klink for the better part of an hour, and he was done, at least until after lunch. He poured himself a glass of water and drank it slowly. The moment he swallowed the water, his stomach woke up, demanding breakfast, and he smirked. "Wilson was on the right track about food. We should all grab something."

Newkirk seemed about to respond, but he just shook his head and stayed quiet, looking more worried than before.

He just couldn't stop staring at her. His eyes drifted over the soft contours of her cheek, lingering on the rosy fullness of her lips, the way her auburn hair lay in loose curls against the pillow... He swallowed, briefly closing his eyes and imagining how she would look without the bruises and scratches marring her face.

Before the previous night, the last time he'd even held a woman, let alone done anything with one, was months back. Gretel, the Gestapo informant hardly counted, and before that there was Brunhilde, the girl he'd spent the night with in a barn near the Hammelburg road, waiting for Klink to recapture him. That had been almost six months ago, when Klink accidentally volunteered for duty on the Russian Front. He had to hand it to Klink, no one else he'd ever met was quite as thick, but he did feel like he owed the kommandant for that night on the farm. It wasn't often that he had free rein to mess around with a fraulien for a whole day and night. Brunhilde had been great, but her English wasn't very good, and his German was still a bit shaky, so they hadn't spent too much time talking. Not that he minded, of course, but sometimes it was nice to just talk to a girl, as a sort of breather between other activities.

A hand rested on Newkirk's shoulder, startling him. It was Hogan. He'd gotten up from the desk and was standing behind the Englishman.

"She's tough, Newkirk. She'll be alright."

Nightingale was tough, no question there. Everyone in the underground had to be, especially the women. It was part of what made them so alluring, the fact that they were brave enough and clever enough to handle the weapons and flim-flam jobs, but still so beautiful that they could render the men around them speechless.

He nodded, turning back to face the bed and still looking anxious. "Yes, sir. I just wish there was more I could do ta help 'er."

Hogan smiled, vaguely amused. His dark brown eyes twinkled evilly. "Been a while, huh, Newkirk?"

Newkirk tilted his head, blinking curiously before turning towards his CO. "Sir? You 'intin' at something?"

Hogan sat back down at the desk, chuckling quietly. "Don't play dumb, corporal. She's a good lookin' woman." He made a gesture in Nightingale's general direction. "Bruises notwithstanding. She is kinda stubborn." He smiled to himself. "Reminds me of that Dr. Leche 4, but then again," he shrugged, still smiling to himself. "She was beautiful, too, and brave, and smart as anything."

Newkirk grinned. "Didn't she pull rank on ya, gov?"

The colonel groaned. "Don't remind me." Hogan smiled back ruefully. "That's still the only time I've ever kissed my CO, but you haven't answered me, though. Last night Kinch was betting that you'd be hitting on her before you and Carter got her back to camp," his expression turned curious, "but I haven't seen you make a single move since we got back last night, and I've been here almost the whole time."

Newkirk frowned thoughtfully, pursing his lips slightly and standing up. He leaned a hand on Hogan's desk, keeping his voice low. "I would, sir, but she's married."

Hogan rolled his eyes. "Since when has that ever stopped you?"

The corporal shook his head, throwing a glance over his shoulder to check that she was still asleep. She was, so he continued, but in a low voice. "This is different, gov. She's one of us, in the underground, an' so's 'er 'usband."

Hogan gave him a questioning look, pushing back his cap with one knuckle, and Newkirk shrugged at the unvoiced query.

"I was talkin' to 'er when Wilson was patchin' 'er up last night, just tryin' to distract 'er a bit since 'e didn't 'ave any morphine to give 'er when 'e was sewin 'er up. She'd already told me, back when we were still in the woods, that she came to Germany because of 'er 'usband, so I asked 'er whether 'er bloke knew about 'er bein' in the underground, it bein' so dangerous an' all, an' it turns out that 'e's the one 'o got 'er into it."

Hogan whistled low, shaking his head. "If I was married, not sure I could put my wife in danger like that."

Newkirk nodded. "From what we've seen of 'er so far, I don't think she left the choice up ta him. Anyway, I figure doin' that ta 'im, messin' with 'is missus, would be like betrayin' one of our own."

Just when Hogan thought he had Newkirk figured, the man turned around and surprised him. "You're a good man, Peter." He clapped the corporal on the back affectionately. "Come on, I think I smelled omelettes when Wilson opened the door."

Hogan headed for the door, shrugging into his jacket since it was sometimes colder in the main barracks. He was almost at the door when he realized that no footsteps were following him. He turned and saw that Newkirk was sitting by the bed again, his mouth twitching into a nervous smile as he blinked quickly. "Think I'll stay in 'ere, colonel. Don't want 'er to wake up alone an' disoriented." He made a shooing gesture towards the door. "You go on ahead."

A heavy sigh and a nod, then "alright, but I'm having LeBeau bring you breakfast in here. My command crew's no good to me if they don't eat every once in a while."

Now it was Newkirk's turn to roll his eyes. "Yes, mum."


	11. Eating And Planning

11

Hogan stepped out into the main part of the barracks, nodding when he saw that the men were having breakfast. He turned and closed the door behind himself, careful not to make too much noise doing it. Just before the door closed all the way, he looked back into the office. Newkirk was still sitting by the bed. He had his back to the door now, so it was hard to tell, but Hogan would have bet good money that he still looked nervous, and, moreover, that he wouldn't really stop being on edge until Nightingale was doing better. Hogan made sure the latch caught quietly, then headed straight for the table where LeBeau was dishing out a plate of eggs.

Louis added some sausage and potato pancakes to the plate, then held up a hand to stop Hogan from walking past. "Breakfast, mon colonel." He handed the plate and a mug of coffee over to Hogan, getting a smile from his CO.

"Thanks, Louis." He sat down next to Kinch, grabbing a fork from the end of the table. There was applesauce on the table too, so he took a healthy spoonful and dropped it onto the latkes. After he'd had a mouthful of latke and one of coffee, he looked up at LeBeau. "Can you make a plate for Newkirk?"

The small Frenchman took off his chef's hat and sat down, starting to work on his own plate. He spooned some applesauce onto his latkes. "Why? Isn't he joining us?"

Hogan jerked his head towards the office. "He's staying with her for a while."

LeBeau nodded, putting down his fork and getting up from his spot on the bench. "Alright. I'll just give him mine. No point letting it get cold while I make more."

Carter gave him a puzzled look. "Isn't there more on the stove?"

LeBeau shook his head. "It's not ready yet. I can wait a few minutes to eat." He indicated the plate in his hands. "This food would have been for Pierre anyway, if he had come out here."

He paused by the stove for a minute, stirring the eggs and flipping a few latkes on the griddle. The oil they were frying in popped and sizzled merrily, turning the potato pancakes a golden brown. He was proud of his food, but, as a Frenchman who was at war with Germans, at first he hadn't been happy about making traditional German dishes. Of course, he'd had to get over that for the infrequent jobs where he worked as a short order cook in restaurants the gang had temporarily commandeered. He'd gradually gotten used to making latkes, but most mornings he would rather do crepe suzette.

Hogan speared a piece of sausage on his fork, then paused with it halfway to his mouth. He looked around the table, but didn't see Wilson. "Did Danny talk to you?"

"Oui, I have some soup for her that is almost ready, and he said that if she wanted them, latkes were fine, too."

Kinch stood up, pouring himself more coffee. "After Wilson ate, he went downstairs with Baker to ask London for a penicillin drop." He looked into the cook pot, sniffing appreciatively at the bubbling soup. "If the soup and pancakes won't be ready for a while, Louis, why don't you eat now? Then you could bring Newkirk and Nightingale their food at the same time."

LeBeau shook his head. "She may need help with the soup, and then Pierre's food will get cold while he helps her." He flipped the latkes again, checking how browned they were getting. It would be a couple minutes before they burned, but the eggs were already done, so he turned off the heat under the eggs before heading for the office.

Hogan rubbed his temples. A morning spent listening to Klink had left him with a blistering headache, but he was trying not to let it sour his mood. "Alright. Newkirk said he fixed the explosives. Everything else all set?"

Kinch took another sip of coffee. "All the mics are out of Klink's office except the one on the wall, and that one's ready to be pulled when you give the word, we'll just need a guy outside to cut the wire." Kinch smiled. "Carlotti and I cleaned the office as an excuse to get in there."

Hogan continued working on his food, keeping one eye on the tunnel entrance. He debated having Olsen or one of the others watch the barracks door, just in case one of the krauts suddenly decided to drop by and they needed time to hide Nightingale, but he decided against it. As long as all the men were in the common area, none of the guards would think to look in his office. He'd just have guys at the windows in all the huts keep casual watch, so they could duck inside to pass the word if a guard came towards barracks 2. It would be easy enough to keep Klink and Schultz out of the office, even if either ofthem did decide to drop by. The only problem he could foresee was if Hochstetter himself came that morning, but the major would probably be busy going over the bridge and depot sites until the next day.

He smiled back at Kinch. "Good. Have the guys in the yard and in the other huts keep lookouts at their windows for the goons. I wanna know if any of 'em head this way."

Kinch nodded and headed for the door. "Right, I'll pass the word." He buttoned up his jacket, bracing himself for the cold weather outside. He couldn't for the life of him understand why anyone would want to be outside in this cold, but there were a few guys who always sat out on the benches, regardless of the temperature, until the first snowfall of the year.

Hogan looked across the table, gesturing with his mug at the young sergeant sitting opposite him. The man's plate was almost cleared, there were just a few stray scraps of egg he was trying to round up with his fork. "How about you, Carter?"

Carter nodded, perking up. "Everything's out of sight, colonel. The film's gonna take a while, so I figured I'd grab some breakfast before I got started. I'm just about to go down now."

"Good." Hogan took another sip of coffee, looking thoughtfully at the table top for a moment. He glanced back up at Carter. The sergeant was, as Nightingale had said, a "nice kid", but he wondered what could be so bad about the pictures that anyone might need to be protected from them. He ran a finger along the handle of his coffee mug. "Carter, anything about the film canister bother you?"

Carter looked puzzled. "Bother me? Heck no." He took the canister out of his pocket, just to double check. As he turned it in his hands, something caught his eye and he nodded. "There is something written on the side of it, but I just figured that was a kind of label, like maybe where the pictures were taken."

He tapped the word with his finger, then handed it over to Hogan. "Do you know what it means?"

Hogan peered at the word, reading it aloud. "'Dachau'. Nope, not a clue." He gave it back to Carter. "Soon as you can, get started developing it."

Carter grinned, putting it back into his jacket pocket. "You can count on me, boy. Uh, sir."

When Kinch went outside, a strong gust of cold air blew into the hut. The men all shivered a little, some crossing their arms or pulling their jackets closed against the sudden wind. LeBeau paused at the office door, waiting for the wind to abate before going in. The last thing he wanted to do was let the cold air in to chill Nightingale. The breeze died once Kinch had closed the outer door, and then LeBeau went into the office.


	12. The Concern Of Friends

12

The small Frenchman gave the door a soft knock and then opened it slowly, being careful to keep the plate level. Newkirk briefly turned around to see who it was, and smiled when he saw the small Frenchman entering with a steaming plate of food. Newkirk shook his head fondly. War or no war, Louis was a mate he could count on.

LeBeau moved toward the bed, holding the plate in both hands. "Newkirk, breakfast."

"Thanks, Louis," he murmured. Newkirk nodded his understanding, but didn't accept the plate or move away from the bunk.

LeBeau looked at the bed and frowned when he saw that Nightingale wasn't awake anymore. She had been doing so well earlier, and he'd wanted to believe that she wasn't too badly hurt, but the fact that she was unconscious again worried him. He shook his head, whispering, "how is she?"

Newkirk shrugged and turned back to the bed, keeping his voice low. "Can't really tell. She's been asleep since I came back in, and Danny's waitin' to finish checkin' 'er out until she's awake again." Newkirk shook his head again, looking worried.

LeBeau held out the plate again. If he couldn't help Nightingale, he could at least look after his friend. "Eat, mon ami," he coaxed. "The mademoiselle would not want you to go hungry."

LeBeau put the plate in his hands and Newkirk was about to argue, but just then his stomach growled audibly, prompting an embarrassed smile. "Thanks, chum."

The Frenchman nodded, hovering for a second to make sure Newkirk was actually starting to eat. Once the eggs started to disappear into the Englishman's mouth, he smiled. "Eh, forget it. Her food will be ready in a little while, just tell me when she would like it."

Some of his worry eased, and Newkirk smiled back. _At least she won't be 'ungry when she wakes up._ "Danny talked to you?"

"Oui. I have soup and pancakes for her." LeBeau's face grew worried again. "Too bad we don't have anything else for her to drink except coffee and wine. What she really needs is fruit and vegetable juice."

Newkirk looked up, smirking. He had polished off the eggs and was halfway through the pancakes. "Too bad there's a war on." Things like fresh fruit and juices were hard to come by, especially for POWs, and especially in a country like Germany, with such a cool climate. Fortunately, though, they could go to Max's fruit shop in town. Since he was one of their regular contacts, Max would be sure to help them.

LeBeau tried to laugh at the quip, but after looking at Nightingale's pale, drawn face and the bruises on her neck and arms, he couldn't manage to do it. "I wonder what she was doing out in the woods all alone."

"You can ask her when she's awake." Hogan's voice came from the doorway, surprising them both. Newkirk jumped in his chair, and LeBeau spun around at the voice, eyes wide.

"Blimey, that's a good way to give a fella a start." Newkirk shook his head, getting his breath back. "Didn't see ya there, gov."

Hogan walked into the office, gesturing to the common area with his thumb. "LeBeau, pancakes are starting to burn." Louis hurried out past the colonel, muttering to himself in French. Hogan's faint smile slipped a little when he looked over at the bunk. "No change?"

Newkirk shook his head. "I don't like it, gov." He pursed his lips thoughfully, staring at her for another second, then shook his head, got up from his chair and started pacing. "Just sittin' around, waitin' like this. If the goons came in 'ere right now we'd all be shot, quick as you like, and she can't even tell us what her mission is!" He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, pacing from the door to the window. Hogan leaned on his locker, just watching and listening, letting the corporal think out loud.

"It's just not right. She should be in 'ospital, gettin' checked out properly. Wilson's a good medic, but 'e's the first to admit 'e ain't a doctor, an' that's what she needs: a real doctor." His pacing took him past Hogan. Moments later, he realized that his CO had taken out a pack of cigarettes and was holding one out for him. Unlike Newkirk, Hogan rarely smoked, unless he'd managed to get his hands on some of Klink's cigars, so Newkirk wondered where he'd gotten the pack.

_Probably in his Red Cross package, an' 'e's been 'oldin' onto 'em to trade for something else, or for bribing Schultzie._

"Thanks." Newkirk got out his lighter and flicked it open, puffing the cigarette to life until a trail of smoke snaked up to the ceiling. He took a long drag, walking past the bed again, and blew out a cloud towards the far wall. However, instead of resuming his pacing, he just stood facing the wall, his back to Hogan. "I don't know, gov. I just don't know." He rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand, taking puffs on the cigarette every so often.

Hogan pushed himself off the locker, looking thoughtful, and walked over to stand beside him. "It's been less than a day, Newkirk." He put a hand on the corporal's shoulder. "Give it some time."

Newkirk just nodded, taking another drag. He exhaled the smoke and smiled faintly, then held up the cigarette. He just looked at it for a minute, then indicated it with his eyes. "Thanks, gov."

He stepped away, turning back to the bunk again, and Hogan let his hand drop. Hogan smiled to himself, glancing at the desk. There was a deck of cards in the top drawer, and remembering that gave him an idea. "Well, if you're not gonna leave this room, how about a game of cards to pass the time? Its been a while since we played gin."

Newkirk laughed, eyes twinkling and rubbing at his forehead with one knuckle. "Blimey, gov, you must really feel sorry for me. You know I'll clean you out quick as a wink."

Hogan shrugged. "Just a thought." He cocked his head, looking at Newkirk appraisingly. "You know, I've never seen you act like this about a girl. Sure, you flirt, and you occasionally bring a gestapo spy home with you, but you never worry like this."

Newkirk rolled his eyes, stubbing out the cigarette in an ashtray before tucking it behind his ear. "Blimey. Are you lot _ever_ gonna let me forget that?"

Hogan grinned, pulling out his desk chair and leaning forward, eyes wide, with a comically earnest look on his face. "_No._" He got settled in the chair, noticing that two of Newkirk's breakfast sausages were still on his plate. He snagged one, eating it and smiling. "You'd better eat the other one now, if you still want it."

"Ruddy 'eartless, that's what you are, gov." Newkirk shook his head, finishing the other sausage with a smirk. "An' for your information, I brought that bird back because I was worried about 'er. The gestapo grabbed me in 'er flat, an' I thought they might be goin' after 'er next. They did say they'd deal with 'er. 'Ow was I supposed to know she wasn't on the up-an'-up?"

"Alright, alright." Hogan threw up his hands in mock surrender. He was relieved to see Newkirk acting more like himself, and hoped the corporal's melancholy had passed for good. "Nevermind. At least you've learned your lesson. No more seducing spies, unless they're on our side."

Newkirk shook his head, giving a rueful smile. "An you're the master at _that,_ gov. Almost every underground dame comes through 'ere, you end up gettin' a kiss. The rest of us aren't as lucky-"

Hogan held up a hand, motioning for Newkirk to be quiet. A noise was coming from the lower bunk. They both looked over at the bed and saw that Nightingale was shifting around. Both men glanced at each other, sharing relieved looks before they went over to the bed. Newkirk sat down in his chair again, putting a hand on her arm, and Hogan brought the desk chair over.

"Darlin'? You wakin' up?" Newkirk made sure to keep his voice low, almost whispering as he hovered at the bedside.

Her mouth jerked down, face tensing in a wince. She made a quiet noise, halfway between a moan and a whimper. Newkirk ran his thumb back and forth on her arm, speaking softly. "C'mon, love. I'd like to see those pretty eyes of yours open again." Her face relaxed and she smiled at that.

Hogan let out a relieved breath. "Looks like she's comin' around." Newkirk nodded, but otherwise he didn't acknowledge the colonel. Hogan got up, shaking his head a little but smiling ruefully. "I'll get Wilson." It didn't seem likely that Newkirk would be leaving her side anytime soon, not willingly, so Hogan figured that he might as well get the medic.

He stepped away from the bed, quietly making his way out of the room. In fact, Hogan was so unobtrusive that Newkirk only noticed that the colonel had moved when he was nearly at the door. He gave a quick nod of acknowledgement, then turned back to the bed. When he saw that Nightingale's eyes were coming open, he grinned. "Now, there are those lovely eyes. You've been 'idin' 'em for the past 'our."

Nightingale winced at his voice. It had started her head pounding again, and she closed her eyes to fend off the throbbing pain. "Mmhm. Don' you know iss rude to argue in th' same room as someone who has a concussion?"

Newkirk only smiled at the scolding, but he lowered his voice. "Won't 'appen again, love." He gave her hand a reassuring pat, briefly turning away to get the bowl of water. He carefully removed the cloth from her brow, submerged it in the bowl, and wrung out the excess water before putting it back on her forehead. "There, that should be better."

She made a quiet noise, frowning a little when the cool cloth touched her skin, but then her face relaxed. "Thanks, Peter."

He jerked his head towards the door, glancing that way and hoping that Wilson would be coming in soon. "The colonel's gettin' Wilson, an' 'e'll fix you up." He still thought that she needed a proper doctor, but he couldn't see the point in mentioning it and making her worry.

Hogan closed the door behind himself, scanning the common area of the barracks for Wilson. He spotted the medic sitting at the table, playing cards with Kinch. LeBeau was sitting nearby, nursing a cup of coffee. Hogan walked over, sneaking a look at Kinch's hand before he motioned to Wilson. The medic sat up straighter and glanced at his bag. "You need me, colonel?"

Hogan nodded, circling around the table to stand by Wilson. "She's just waking up."

Wilson put his hand of cards face down on the table and grabbed his bag, heading for the office. Hogan was about to follow when LeBeau spoke. "Colonel?" Hogan turned, catching the concerned look on LeBeau's face. He fidgeted with his coffee, nervously turning the mug around and around. "Do you know if the mademoiselle would like some food?"

Hogan shrugged. "She was only just waking up, Louis. I didn't ask her anything." The Frenchman seemed crestfallen, so Hogan gave his arm a pat. "Wait until Danny's done with her, then you can go in and ask her for yourself."

As they walked away, Hogan tapped Kinch on the shoulder. "Don't play the six." He winked, then followed the medic into his office, leaving Kinch at the table, re-thinking his gin strategy.


	13. Rude Awakening

_A/N: sorry for the long delay between uploads. Between RL and other fics, I'd forgotten that this chapter was finished. So, here 'tis, and I hope it was worth the wait. Next chapter will be up before the end of the month. Enjoy, review and comment._

* * *

13 – Rude Awakening

Nightingale closed her eyes again, knotting the worry in Newkirk's stomach even tighter when she groaned.

"'Ow you feelin', luv?"

She almost laughed, looking at him as though the question was ridiculous. "Like a tank rolled over my head." She shifted in the bed, trying to find a more comfortable position, but only ended up wincing. "Owww... And like I fell off a horse."

Newkirk smiled a bit at that, taking her hand in his and patting it reassuringly. He was relieved that she was awake again, and even more that she was lucid enough to be joking. It had been roughly twelve hours since they brought her into camp, and the fact that she was awake and coherent reassured Newkirk that her concussion probably wasn't too serious. Of course, he knew that she wouldn't be in the clear for another day and a half.

"And were shot at," he added, only half joking.

She smiled back, but her mouth pulled down into a thoughtful frown after his comment sunk in. "Did I tell you about that?"

Newkirk shook his head. "Wilson said that cut on your 'ead came from a bullet. What 'e can't puzzle out, though, is 'ow it got there. It's a ruddy awkward place ta get nicked."

Nightingale turned her head on the pillow and a few muscles in her face twitched at the movement. "I was being chased… by SS men. I remember being shot at…" She closed her eyes briefly, trying to remember. "They shot at me, and I think I ducked low over the saddle," she smiled crookedly, reaching a tentative hand up to feel her bandage. "Guess I didn't duck low enough."

Newkirk took her hand to stop her from fiddling with the bandage. "Low enough that you lived to tell about it."

"True." She seemed to like the way he talked to her. Her eyes followed the movement when he brought her hand to rest on top of the covers, and she smiled at him when he left his own hand resting on top of hers.

"How long has it been since Wilson was here?" She rubbed her free hand at her forehead. It looked like she was fighting off another bad headache, and as worried as Newkirk was about that, he was pleased to note that she seemed to find his touch comforting. Instead of moving her right hand out from under Newkirk's, she turned her hand over and gave Newkirk's fingers a squeeze. He smiled to himself before glancing down at his watch.

"Just over an hour. Why?"

She closed her eyes and grumbled, "I was hoping it had been longer." He gave her a quizzical look. "Last time I was awake, he had just given me some pills. It's too soon for me to take another dose of painkiller... "

He nodded, understanding. "Right."

Floorboards out in the common area of the barracks creaked, announcing that someone was coming towards the office. Newkirk turned around in his seat just as the door latch lifted, revealing Hogan and the medic. Beyond them, over by the stove, he caught sight of LeBeau topping off a cup of coffee. The other corporal put the coffee pot back on the stove, hunching his shoulders and worriedly glancing over at the office door. Newkirk caught the Frenchman's eye and used his free hand to flash him a thumbs up, wanting to reassure him. LeBeau caught the gesture and nodded, relaxing slightly before the closing door blocked him from view.

Hogan sighed, putting on a smile. "Alright, Milady, time to finish getting you looked at."

Nightingale looked up at him with a wry smile. "Lets be honest, Colonel. You just want to know how long it'll be until I'm out of your hair."

"Lady, I don't know _what_ you mean." Even though Hogan sounded offended, his eyes sparkled and after a moment, he flashed her a grin.

Newkirk frowned. It seemed like Hogan was flirting with her, and he didn't like that. After how hostile the colonel had been to their guest, Newkirk had just assumed that his C.O. wouldn't be making a play for her. He really didn't want to compete with Hogan for the lady's attention. Whenever the two of them had been rivals in the past, the dames had always picked Hogan. Most of the time that was just annoying; plenty of fish in the sea and all that, but he really liked Nightingale. There was something about her… She was more than just another pretty face. Much more.

The medic came over to the lower bunk, pulling up Hogan's desk chair while the colonel leaned against the far wall, drumming his fingers on the cheap plywood. He quickly tired of that, though, and stepped over to the desk, retrieving his deck of cards from the drawer. Hogan sat down on the edge of his desk and started shuffling the cards.

"Alright, luv, 'ere's Wilson, come to fix you up."

"Ma'am," Wilson flashed her a smile as he sat down in the chair. He set his bag of supplies on his lap, opening the bag and reaching inside it for something when he suddenly paused. "Colonel…" he cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable about what he was about to say, and he slowly took out a stethoscope, brushing it off with part of his shirt.

The medic's discomfort got Hogan's attention, and the colonel looked over at him questioningly but didn't stop playing with the cards in his hands. "Danny?"

"I need to examine her alone."

The smile drained from Newkirk's face at this new development, and Hogan's cards froze in mid-shuffle. Both men shared a long look before Hogan nodded. "Alright, Danny. We'll leave you to it."

Newkirk's eyes flicked over to look at Nightingale, and he was confused when he saw that she wasn't surprised by Wilson's announcement. She smiled at his evident confusion and patted his hand in a reassuring way. "Go get yourself some coffee." Nightingale nodded at the door. "I'll be alright."

Somehow, he'd expected to be in the room with her the whole time, but now that he thought about it, a thorough exam would involve her getting at least partially undressed, and it made sense to leave her alone with the medic for that. He frowned at a sudden thought. _Provided __that __Danny __behaves __himself._

"C'mon, Newkirk." Hogan got up from his desk and moved to the door, glancing back over his shoulder when he didn't hear any footsteps behind him. Newkirk hadn't moved from his seat.

Hogan growled at the man. "Newkirk…"

Newkirk briefly turned around, shooting his CO a look. "I'm comin', guv, I'm comin…" he turned back to her, worry creasing his forehead. "Sure you'll be alright?"

Nightingale closed her eyes and nodded, smiling. "I'm sure." He smiled at her shakily and was just starting to get up when she squeezed his hand again.

"What is it, love?"

Nightingale lightly chewed on her lip, darting a shy look at him. "Feels like I've got all of you at a disadvantage."

Newkirk frowned. "How do you mean?"

She shrugged, glancing over at the colonel. It was clear that he still didn't really trust her, and since her safety was in the hands of his men, she knew that she had to do something to gain his confidence.

"I know your names – your real names – but you don't know mine…"

Hogan came back over to the bunk, leaning one hand on the frame of the upper bed and staring at her intently. "Your codename is all we _need_ to know."

She looked up at him, cocking one eyebrow at him challengingly. "How can I expect your trust if I don't level with you?"

The colonel shook his head. "Look, Nightingale…"

"Katrina."

Hogan stared at her blankly. "What?"

She shrugged one shoulder and gave him a slow smile. "It's my name. Katrina Von Schimmel."


	14. Past Imperfect

14

Hogan nodded at her politely. "Nice to meet you, Katrina. Alright, Newkirk," he turned to see that the corporal hadn't moved. In fact, he was standing stock still and staring at Katrina as though seeing her for the first time. Hogan shook his head, muttering to himself about the nonsense he had to put up with every day, and then he grabbed the corporal's arm and dragged him bodily from the room.

Being pulled along seemed to snap Newkirk out of his daze, but by then they were already in the main part of the barracks. "Now 'ang on a minute, guv'nor…"

Hogan released Newkirk's arm only after he had closed the door to his quarters. He rounded on the man, glaring at him. "I don't wanna hear it, corporal."

They heard muffled feminine laughter coming from Hogan's office, followed by Danny's lower voice. Neither man could tell what the medic was saying, which was probably for the best. They didn't want to overhear too much. Obviously, they wanted to know what her condition was, but overhearing snatches of conversation would only serve to drive them a little bit crazy. Also, Hogan was sure that if either of them so much as heard Katrina say 'ow', they might barrel into the office to make sure that Wilson wasn't hurting her.

"Sir," Kinch stepped up, hoping to diffuse some of the tension between Hogan and Newkirk. "Carter went down to develop the film about twenty minutes ago. He said it wouldn't take more than an hour."

Hogan nodded, glancing at his watch. "Did you put the call in to London about the penicillin drop?"

"I did," the radioman frowned a tiny bit, glancing over at Newkirk before he elaborated. "Sir, they're plannin' a big raid on Zuglitz and they can't spare any planes. All the fighters are escorting the B-17s to protect them against German fighters."

"Yeah," Hogan rubbed a knuckle at his forehead. "Ever since the anti-aircraft unit there was clobbered, the krauts have been trying to use fighters to protect it. Did London say when they'll be able to send some?"

Kinch looked unhappy and crossed his arms. "Tomorrow night."

"Can she wait that long? I mean," Newkirk looked from one American to the other, "She 'ad that ruddy big gash on 'er head an' she was lyin' on the ground for hours before we found 'er. Don't you think that she mighta already picked up an infection?"

"There's really no way to know," LeBeau chimed in from his seat at the table. "But if she has, I am sure that Wilson will take good care of her until we get the penicillin."

Newkirk cleared his throat, glancing over at his C.O.. "If ya don't mind, sir, I'm just gonna pop outside, make sure the shutters to your office window is closed." He smiled crookedly, reaching up to take his topcoat off of a peg on the end of his bunk. "Don't want any peepin' Toms ta sneak a peek in there."

Hogan smirked, nodding a bit. "Okay, just make sure that _you_ don't sneak a peek in there, yourself."

Newkirk paused while buttoning up his coat and narrowed his eyes at the colonel. "An' just what'll you be doin' while she's in with Danny, sir?"

Hogan shrugged, giving an evil smirk and then turning up the collar of his leather jacket. "Its about time I barged in on Klink."

* * *

Newkirk and the colonel headed outside together, then went in different directions; Hogan to the Kommandantur, and Newkirk circling around the other side of their barracks. It took him almost no time at all to reach the window to Hogan's quarters, and he saw right away that the shutters were indeed closed. He figured that Danny must have closed them after Hogan dragged him out of the office. He nodded to himself, then leaned back against the barracks and closed his eyes.

Von Schimmel.

Von Schimmel.

It couldn't be. It just _couldn__'__t_be.

Newkirk shook his head, fumbling a cigarette out of his pocket and then holding it between his lips while he got out his lighter.

It had been almost eight months since he and Carter had tried to rescue an underground agent codenamed Magpie from SS headquarters in Hammelburg (1). The agent's real name was Erik Von Schimmel, and he had been captured along with his young daughter. Magpie's wife had sent out a call through the underground, asking for help in rescuing her family. Newkirk and Carter had managed to get access to the prisoners, but soon afterwards their cover was blown. They hadn't been able to save the agent – or his daughter – and they had barely gotten away in one piece.

Now that he thought about it, Newkirk remembered Baker saying something about how sharp and feisty Magpie's wife was.

From what he'd seen so far, Katrina certainly fit that description. He just hoped that she wasn't the widow of a man he'd been unable to save.

'_C'mon. 'Ow many underground agents can there be with that surname? It's probably 'er. Just my ruddy luck, too. First bird I meet who really seems interesting, more 'n just a quick shag, and I'm the wanker what couldn't save 'er bloke. That makes for a great ice breaker when I'm tryin' ta chat 'er up. "Oh, by the way, darlin', me an' my mate are the reason you 'ad to bury your 'usband and child. D'you wanna go dancin'?"_

He took a long drag on his cigarette, shaking his head and blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Bloody charmin'."

Newkirk shivered, crossing his arms over his chest against the freezing cold wind. He'd been so lost in his thoughts that he didn't realize just how cold it was outside. He shook his head again, pushing off from the building and bracing himself against the icy wind. He circled back around the building, trying to decide how to untangle this newest complication.

_If she is his widow, I can't let it lie. I gotta make a clean breast of it, tell her what happened, why we couldn't save 'em._

As he neared the barracks door, he muttered to himself, "blimey, sometimes I hate 'avin' a conscience."

* * *

(1) see my other HH story 'You Can't Win 'Em All'


	15. Welcome Distractions

15

Frauline Helga looked up from her paperwork and smiled as Colonel Hogan entered the outer office of the Kommandantur. Her blue eyes sparkled at the handsome American officer.

"Good morning, Colonel Hogan."

"Morning, honey." He walked over to her desk, resting both hands on the side of the desk and murmuring seductively. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you."

She coyly pretended to busy herself with swapping out a used up typewriter ribbon. "Oh, and what is that?"

Hogan smiled to himself and leaned close enough to smell her perfume. "What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Helga laughed quietly and gave up all pretense of being busy with paperwork. She inclined her head towards Hogan's lips, hoping that he had come to the office in search of information. A search which, as per usual, would require that the two of them spend quite some time kissing. "I'm trying to earn some money for my family. It was this, or work as a waitress in a café trying to fend off drunken patrons."

One of Hogan's hands migrated from the desk to Helga's elbow. "Why did you choose to work here?" His voice was warm, deep, and full of curiosity.

She sighed, replying lightly, "I don't have to be on my feet all the time, and there's only one drunken fool who I ever need to deal with." She nodded in the direction of Klink's private office.

Hogan smiled at that, pressing a kiss to her ear. "But at the Hofbrau, you don't have to listen to Klink playing his violin."

Helga muffled another laugh. Colonel Hogan always made her laugh. Between his schemes, his sense of humor, and the marathon kissing sessions, he made her time at Stalag 13 seem to pass more quickly. He was the real reason she was glad to have decided on this job. "Thanks to you hiding his violin strings, _nobody_has to listen to that wretched sound anymore."

Hogan reluctantly straightened up, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Well, I've gotta talk to our fearless leader. Would you be a love and tell Klink I need to see him?"

Helga pouted a little, standing up and stepping closer so she could rest a hand on his arm. She also positioned herself so that she was blocking the doorway to Klink's office. "Kiss me first," she demanded softly.

"Is that all?" A happy twinkle lit in Hogan's eyes and he pushed his crush cap back on his head before taking Klink's secretary in his arms. "Y'know, this is a part of the job I could really get used to."

Helga's happy giggle was swallowed up by the kiss. When they parted, she took out a small cloth and wiped off the smudges which her rose-colored lipstick had left on his face. "There, no evidence."

Hogan grinned, patiently waiting until she was done. "Someday, you're gonna make somebody a great wife."

"Don't get your hopes up, colonel." She smirked, her hand poised above the doorknob. "You have to buy me a ring first."

She knocked on Klink's door before Hogan had a chance to answer, and stepped into the kommandant's office when she heard a wood-muffled voice say "come in."

"Colonel Hogan to see you, herr Kommandant."

Klink raised his head, fixing her with an unhappy look. "I don't have time for Hogan right now," he said irritably. "I just got off the phone with Major Hochstetter. Something about coming here to investigate sabotage in the area, and I'm supposed to let him use _my_ camp as his base of operations. Nhuh!" He made a silly gesture with his hand to accompany the similarly silly noise.

Hogan had done this dance a thousand times before. He could play Klink like a violin. Hogan winced at the analogy, involuntarily remembering the sound of Klink's attempts at being a musician.

He shook off the memory of Klink's violin bow grating out an out-of tune version of Mozart's D-Major quartet, thinking that it made a sick kind of sense that Klink's rendition of "Into The Wild Blue Yonder" was actually half-way decent (1). He stepped past Helga into the office, holding his crush cap in both hands and wearing his best expression of earnest concern. "I just wanted to ask you if everything was all right, Kommandant. You seemed upset at roll call, and I was hoping it wasn't because of something that I did."

Helga slipped out, fighting a smile and softly closing the door behind herself.

Klink glared at Hogan for a moment with his lips pressed into a thin line. Then his shoulders slumped and he shook his head, motioning for Hogan to sit in one of the chairs opposite his desk. "No, Hogan. For once you are not the reason for my foul mood."

Hogan smiled briefly in thanks as he took a seat, and then resumed looking worried. "May I ask what is the matter, sir?" He rested his cap on top of Klink's Pickelhaube, the spiked helmet Klink kept on his desk from the first world war. Klink scowled, grabbed Hogan's cap and put it on top of the humidor instead.

Klink got up and moved out from behind his desk, pacing over to a side table covered with a lace runner and graced with a crystal decanter full of schnapps. "Last night, your foolish Underground tried to destroy two targets of vital importance to the war effort of the Third Reich." He sighed, turning to see Hogan's reaction.

Hogan smiled wide, knowing that baiting Klink would be a good way to keep him off balance. "Hey that's great news!"

"Ah, ah, ah!" Klink wagged a finger at the American Colonel. "I didn't say they were successful." He smirked triumphantly, satisfied that he had crushed Hogan's optimism.

Hogan wiped the grin from his face and looked appropriately crestfallen, keeping up the charade of believing Klink's lie. He knew that Klink was just trying to perpetuate the party line and he didn't really blame the Kommandant for doing it. Considering the fact that General Burkhalter was no fan of Klink's and he almost always had a ticket for the Stalingrad Express in his pocket, Hogan knew that Klink didn't really have a choice. Hell, he'd gotten a taste of how it felt to be treated like scum by one of his own generals. When General Barton had accused him of being a sell-out and a 'crummy traitor' (2) Hogan had been furious. There he was, risking his neck for a general who knew nothing about their operation at Stalag 13, who didn't know that Hogan and his men put their lives on the line all the time without more than a long distance pat on the back from London in return, a man whose life he was trying to save, calling _him _a traitor? Barton might as well have kicked him in the stomach.

While Klink was barely half the officer that Hogan was, the American hated to think what it would be like to constantly be berated and threatened by his superiors. Klink had even told Hogan once that he _knew _that he was a failure. Hogan felt bad for the kommandant sometimes, at least when the man wasn't being insufferable. Klink wasn't a great mind and he was greedy, petty, vain, and sometimes vindictive, but he wasn't an evil man. When he sentenced someone to thirty days in the cooler, as the regulations required for an attempted escape, Hogan truly doubted that the German colonel understood what a harsh punishment it was. He was pretty sure that if Klink _did _know, and if he wasn't such a coward, he would try to bend the rules and be more lenient. Considering what kind of man Klink was and how he was treated by his own superiors, his vindictiveness made sense. So did the fact that he was drinking before noon.

"Oh. Well, you win some, you lose some." Hogan said brightly, trying to bait Klink again. It worked for his plans, but he also enjoyed the verbal judo with Klink. The fact that he had to not just play dumb, but pretend that Klink was a few steps ahead of him a lot of the time was more than a little wearing on his ego, so proving to himself time and again that he could manipulate Klink like a marionette was good fun. He also suspected that sometimes Klink enjoyed their exchanges, especially when Hogan was praising his intellect or appearance, and when he was feeling bad for the kommandant he would try that approach. Tossing the guy a few crumbs of self-esteem every once in a great while couldn't hurt.

Klink shook his head. "Naturally, the saboteurs were no match for the brave soldiers of the wehrmacht." Klink turned back to the schnapps, sighing, and removed the decanter's knobby stopper. "But in any case, Major Hochstetter will be coming here in a few days to set up a command post." Here he glanced over his shoulder at Hogan while pouring himself a drink. Hogan had paled slightly, and Klink smiled to himself, returning his focus to the alcohol. He finished pouring, put the decanter down and replaced it's stopper, talking all the while.

"He will also be investigating his suspicions that you were connected in some way to these activities." Klink lifted his glass of schnapps, gently swirling the liquid around so it caught the light before downing the liquor.

Hogan took the opportunity to slide the hinge out of Klink's humidor, grab a few cigars which he stashed in his jacket pocket, and replace the hinge all before Klink turned around again.

"Colonel Klink, how could I have done that? I was here all night, and _if _I'd had something to do with sabotage, why would I come back here?"

Klink held up a hand, shaking his head and pacing back over to his desk. "I know you had nothing to do with it, Hogan. After all, there has never been a successful escape from Stalag 13, but Hochstetter is convinced." He sat down. "Of course, I am not worried!" He clearly was, but Hogan didn't point that out.

He continued, "Everything here is in perfect order, so when Hochstetter comes here there will be nothing for him to find."

Hogan shifted in his chair, frowning half to himself. "Well, that's not really true."

Klink sat forward, leaning both elbows on his blotter and canting his head to one side, looking scared and confused. "What? What do you mean?"

Hogan quickly backpedaled, clearing his throat and shrugging. "Well sir, I just meant that he'll find no evidence here of any sabotage because no one here would be involved in that sort of thing. Now sir, if you don't mind," he rose, putting his cap back on and standing at ease, "I'm gonna go tell the guys to make the barracks shine. We wouldn't want Hochstetter to have any reason to give you a hard time while he's here."

"Thank you, Hogan, but him being here _is _going to be a hard time," Klink said glumly, his eyes darting back to the schnapps bottle.

Hogan gave his head a tiny shake. "Sir, if you want my advice, lay off the sauce until after he leaves."

Klink nodded, his gaze still riveted on the decanter. "Yes, you're probably right. Dismissed, Hogan."

Hogan returned his salute and headed for the door. When he was almost there he turned. "I was just wondering, sir, will you be inspecting the barracks before Hochstetter gets here?"

Klink had removed his monocle and was polishing it when Hogan posed the question. He put it back in place and leveled a suspicious look at the POW. "Why do you want to know?"

Hogan shrugged, wearing his best disarming smile. "I just wondered whether the men should start cleaning up the barracks before they got to work on the compound."

Klink's suspicious expression disappeared and the German nodded, seeming genuinely touched by the gesture. "I have paperwork from Berlin to catch up on, requisitions, inventory, personnel files... and everything in triplicate!" He threw up his hands, staring woefully at the stacks of paper on his desk. "I won't have time to do an inspection."

Klink narrowed his eyes at Hogan. "The barracks _will _be ready by the time he arrives?"

Hogan opened the office door. "I'll see to it, Kommandant."

Klink stood up again, beaming at Hogan, and joined him at the door, clapping the other man on the arm. "You know, Colonel Hogan, with an enemy like you, I really don't need friends."

Hogan stepped back into the outer office and Klink closed the door. His foot steps trailed back towards his desk, the chair creaked when he sat down, and soon Hogan could hear papers being shuffled and a pen scratching across the blotter. Hogan gave Helga a kiss on the cheek and stepped out the front door of the Kommandantur, zipping up his jacket as the wind hit him full in the face.

"Yeah," he said to no one, stepping down off the porch and jamming his hands deep into the jacket pockets. "With a friend like me, he doesn't need enemies, either."

* * *

(1) see my other HH story 'You Can't Win 'Em All'

(1) 6x09 "The Big Record"

(2) 2x17 "The General Swap"


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